The Affairs of Wizards
by Pluma Desatada
Summary: Tony Stark, playboy billionaire genius, is the CEO of the world's number one manufacturer of Anti-Psionic technology, like his father before him, and his grandfather before that. Loki Olson, a warlock raised by the staunchest supporter of anti-magic regulation, dreams of a better future where he no longer is a fugitive hunted by the government, and fights to make it happen.
1. Prologue

**Full Summary: **

Imagine a world where people born with the ability to manipulate magic are forced to choose between being second-class citizens and working for the government in what amounts to modern slavery.

Tony Stark, playboy billionaire genius, is the CEO of the world's number one manufacturer of Anti-Psionic technology, like his father before him, and his grandfather before that.

Loki Olson, a warlock raised by the staunchest supporter of anti-magic regulation, dreams of a better future where he no longer is a fugitive hunted by the government, and works to make it happen.

Then their paths collide.

This is the story of revolution, personal growth, friendship and love and, most important of all, of _hope._

**Acknowledgements:**

**This story is dedicated to DerrDoktor for her unconditional support, and to the wonderful RDJisinspiringlybeautiful because she was very patient and helped me even if she doesn't dig the pairing so much. Hope you both enjoy it!**

This story couldn't have been possible without several people, chief among them:

a. the beloved mods of the frostiron bang, without whom I'd never have actually sat down and written this

b. the ridiculously _amazing_ rdjinspiringlybeautiful who has all the insight you could possibly want into Tony's character, and who was very patient in answering all sort of questions and gave me endless advice on how to write Tony

c. my incredible RP partner DerrDoktor (from The New Management) who sat down with me when I was panicking and let me used her as sounding board for the plot

d. my beta Sara who sped through this massive beast and reassured me that it was alright

e. J.R.R. Tolkien, Patrick Rothfuss, Terry Goodkind, Jim Butcher, Steven Moffat, Joseph Fink, and Hiromu Arakawa, as well as all the script-writers of all the relevant Marvel movies, all people whose work and words I used shamelessly

g. the wonderful Hella, who allowed me to use the concept of the Deadlock grenades (I hope I made it justice!)h. And the Merlin fandom, whose general plot for modern dystopian AUs inspired mine.

* * *

**The Affairs of Wizards**

**by Pluma Desatada**

**(Art by xKalisto, see my bio for details)**

* * *

Loki was three when he first realized he wasn't normal.

Up until that point, like every other toddler, he had spared no thought to anyone other than himself. He hadn't noticed that he was the only one in the whole orphanage who could call toys to his bed from where they were locked two floors below with a mere hand wave or that the pictures in the picture books he read would move only for him and him alone.

The matron, Mrs. Nichols, found out about it when all the other snot-riddled brats complained to her that Loki was sleeping with their favorite teddy bear or some such similar drivel. It earned him a few very public spanks for purportedly 'stealing the toys,' her pretty golden bracelets had clinked with the force of it. It had seemed like a beating to him, whom had never ever been punished for anything until that moment.

Afterwards, once the ignorant masses had been mollified and driven away, Mrs. Nichols had taken him aside and explained in no uncertain terms that he must never ever use his magic again or else the policemen would take him away. Not even if he really-really wanted something or if he tripped and skinned his knee; Loki made sure to ask.

It had been quite the rude wake-up call. Not only did Loki realize that what he did was magic, just like all the evil people in the storybooks Miss Julie read them before bed and that it needed to be hidden, but he also lost his goal in life (he had wanted to be a policeman when he grew up and help people.)

So he found a new life goal (it wasn't too hard, they changed every week or so at that age) and tried really, really hard to stop using his unnatural monster powers. That was also when he started becoming really sick at the drop of a hat, too, but Mrs. Nichols, who was also sick a lot, said not to worry, that it was normal.

* * *

Loki was six when he was first adopted.

The adoption didn't stick.

He was very smart by then, although very prone to getting colds and bruises. He had taken to staying inside and reading books instead of going to the playground and running around, yelling, knocking over other children and generally making a nuisance of himself like everyone else did. He couldn't afford to. Mrs. Nichols knew he was a monster like in the stories, just like she was, so he had to behave really-really well to make up for it.

The couple, Mr. and Mrs. Hargis, were some high-class socialites who wanted a child — because having children was in vogue among their friends — but wanted none of the hassle inherent with actually having one. They picked out Loki because he was quiet and stayed put and because he wasn't high-maintenance.

Loki loved it because it meant new clothes that no one had ever worn before him and books that weren't missing half a page in places or crumbling apart. He made his best effort to be always washed and neat.

Then, one day, his new parents came into his room to wake him up for school and found all his numerous toys floating around the room, twirling around while Loki slept.

Loki found himself back in the orphanage that same day, without his new clothes or his new books, or the new stuffed dog plushy that he had named Fenris. He was lucky that the Hargis were too snobby to report him to the authorities and let it out that they had harbored an unnatural magic user.

The adoption had only lasted one week.

The experience taught him two things. One, that trying really hard not to be a monster was stupid because it showed anyway at the most unexpected moments, so he should be one anyway and learn to hide it better. Two, that nothing good ever lasted, so he shouldn't bother getting attached.

* * *

Loki was eight when he was adopted by the Olsons. It was the third time he was adopted and this one stuck.

His health was much improved by this point, and he was so clever that not only he had skipped three grades at school, he had also successfully fooled the state-mandated screening for magic everyone got in second grade. His magic wasn't very strong, but he had very fine control over it, thanks to all the time he had spent practicing in his room without anyone noticing.

The Olsons had a son, Thor, who was 12, blonde, fat and loud. He was also, in Loki's opinion, painfully stupid, which enabled him to love Loki to death despite Loki's cool reception of his efforts. He didn't believe Loki for one second when the slip of a child suggested (very nastily, one might add) that he would rather stay home and read Sweet Valley books than play with Thor.

It was the nastiest insult Loki could come up with on such short notice.

Thor only scrunched his face, whined "Ugh, but those are for girls," and dragged Loki outside to explore the 'woods' behind the house anyway. Then the exploring turned to playing, where Thor was the hero and Loki the evil witch of the forest.

Loki, wanting to frighten him, was very creepy and frightening and even used magic.

Thor, against all odds, thought it was incredibly cool, and that Loki made the best evil witch ever and they played the day away.

At some point, Thor showed Loki how he could make some sparks come out of his hand, in his innocence. After that, instead of playing witches and hunters, they played just witches, zapping and tripping each other. Loki had never had so much fun in his life, although he would never admit it.

* * *

Loki was ten when he and Thor started High School.

Suddenly, being young and smart was a curse. Being pale and thin and having black hair made him even more of a target because everyone knew that those murdering, rapist, criminal, unnie numbers all had black hair. Still, Loki could count on Thor, who even at fourteen not so much fat as muscular, and thus bigger than most of the bullying seniors.

But then Thor made new friends, and he spent less and less time with Loki or protecting Loki. He also got a girlfriend, Sif, whom Loki hated with a passion and cursed so that all her hair would fall off her head and then grow up black like Loki's own, giving her the sign of evil.

Not even fellow nerds wanted to band with Loki after that, since everyone knew he had done magic on Sif, though no one could prove it.

So he stayed home when he could, fleeing from big crowds. When Frigga, Thor's mother, asked him about the bruises, Loki lied and told her that he had got them during PE. Mr. Olson, Thor's father, went to speak with the school about letting a ten-year-old play with kids four years older than him, saving Loki the hassle of attending P.E. or suffering the post-class locker-room reunions.

Loki learned that lying wouldn't only get him out of immediate trouble, but that it could also be used to manipulate people into giving him what he wanted, no magic required.

He used the extra time constructively, researching more magic, practicing, experimenting. He brewed potions, taught himself how to inscribe magic into something using only runes, developed a system of sygaldry that manipulated the free magic into doing what he wanted it to without using a drop of his own; in essence, he became, without anyone's knowledge, one of the musers with best ratio of magic input to effect.

He used these abilities to play pranks, ranging from the educational to the just plain cruel. He set the chemistry lab to explode in tear gas when the class of his main bully got in. He filled various lockers in the gym with anchovies so everyone would stink, after they pushed him into the mud during a competition everyone was required to participate in. He rigged the showers so that everyone who used them would turn blue. He stole tests from the teachers and passed them around with all the wrong answers.

It was rare for them to even pin it on him and even then he only needed to talk his way out of various punishments.

By the time he graduated at the end of his twelfth year, he had no friends and couldn't speak with Thor without earning himself a punch in the face or worse. His magic, fueled by his anger and resentment, was stronger and more destructive than ever.

* * *

Loki was fourteen and halfway through finishing undergrad school on a complete scholarship when he made his first friend.

Well, 'friend' is mostly an overstatement.

The professor of History of Psionics and Its Influence on Modern Society, Dr. Stephen Strange, worked out that Loki was magic. And instead of ratting him out to the authorities, he told Loki he also had magic and offered to teach Loki.

Performing magic unsanctioned by the State was completely against the law, and more so the teaching of it outside heavily regulated environments, so Loki had no worries about being outed when he accepted.

Though Loki had thought that he would be Dr. Strange's apprentice of sorts, it turned out there was an actual, though tiny, underground community of magic users, neutered and non, though they preferred the less PC terms of witches and sorcerers. Strange himself, through years of study, had achieved the rank of wizard, because it turned out that yes, this community was organized, and doctors in magic had titles.

It was amazing.

So Loki stayed in the University even after he finished, ostensibly to start a graduate degree, which he did work on when he had free time, but also studying magic, basking in the companionship of people who were like him. He officially made a best friend, Victor Von Doom and, to his delight, got beautiful and wicked girlfriend, Leena Moran, Amora to her friends.

Life was good.

* * *

Loki was seventeen and studying to be a wizard when the new law allowing private ownership of Arcanists came out.

The State had always done periodical screenings to catch musers and separate them from proper people, such as the standardized tests everyone got at seven, fourteen and twenty one; but smart people knew how to pass them, knew how to hide and suppress their magic with enough preparation.

All of a sudden, the MCU became really keen on catching musers. They began actively hunting for them, surreptitiously. The authorities mandated other screenings, randomized; for example, setting magic detectors at the entrances to malls, or making medical practitioners test their patients without their knowledge.

One month after the Leasing of Arcanists Act came out, Amora was nabbed, while getting a checkup with her gynecologist, and cuffed. She should have seen it coming when the secretary told her that her usual doctor wasn't going to make it and that that there would be a replacement taking her patients.

They put cuffs on her, the new model, even, designed by inventor extraordinaire Howard Stark himself and produced by Stark Industries. Now she had the choice of remaining a second-class citizen, without even the right to vote or ask for loans, or becoming a State Arcanist, a dog of the government, and work for them in exchange for food and board in prison-like buildings designed to host magic users.

Well, Loki knew what she would choose. Freedom wasn't worth never doing magic again. If she chose the second option, the bracelets would be removed at least some times so she could cast the spells they asked her to.

Dr. Strange was furious.

The culling of their rights had begun around the eleven hundreds, when the Church had finally developed a method of enslaving magic users to their will and had thus stopped killing them on sight. The practice had spread, even though only the rich had had the means to produce the magic-suppressing implements like collars and chastity belts. During the industrial revolution, people had invented a method of mass-producing the bracelets, and the various governments had begun hunting down and enslaving sorcerers. The practice had spread more and more, until it was the norm.

And even though their cousins in Europe had fought hard and won back their rights back at the start of the nineteenth century, the practice had already spread to the colonies, where it remained the norm even years after they declared independence.

It was nothing if not expected.

Still. This was one time too many Dr. Strange had lost one of his circle.

His apprentices, who respected him a lot, were of the same opinion. Victor started a freedom-fighting group without Dr. Strange's knowledge, and Loki joined, wanting to rescue Amora. They recruited magic users from fellow apprentices, sorcerers and wizards, and organized a resistance.

They would not take this oppression lying down.

* * *

Loki was eighteen when their plot to break out the enslaved State Arcanists, and Amora among them, succeeded.

It was a pyrrhic victory, though, because they caught him as he waited for the last of them to cross the portal he and Victor had built. He had managed to push Amora through and close it before the Anti-Psionic grenades, also especially designed by S.I., took him down.

They 'registered' him, put the magic-suppressing cuffs on him and tried to put him into one of the recently-vacated cells. But Loki was ridiculously knowledgeable about magic. Even neutered and with no access to his own magic, he still had enough energy left to kill the man who was guarding him, use the special key to unlock the cuffs, escape, and use sygaldry and alchemy to bring the building down around their ears.

He was knocked out by falling debris, and caught again when they found him unconscious in the rubble.

Since he was too dangerous to be used as they had been using the other sorcerers, and ostensibly because a lot of the guards (who unlike Loki were proper citizens) had died due of his actions, he was leased out — for what amounted to meager change — to Stark Industries to experiment on.

They received him practically gift-wrapped and frothing at the mouth and stuck him in the deepest sub-level, in a cage not only made from two-foot-thick psion-insulating glass, but also built in the middle of an energy-disrupting pentagram cast in cold iron on the floor. They were taking no chances with him.

Scientists measured his magic to try to fit him in the power-ranking system, thinking he would be very high on the scale because he had managed to implode a building even with cuffs on. They expected him to be one of the mythical six or seven magic users of rank five the statics predicted. Of course, they didn't know he hadn't used his magic.

It came as quite a surprise, then, when, even angry as he was, with his emotions supercharging his magic, he barely scraped into the third rank.

Still, it meant he was more powerful than ninety-nine percent of the population. And that, in turn, meant that whatever results S.I. yielded with their prototypes were more than representative. If they managed to strike Loki down for real, then few other magic users stood a chance.

They had to tie Loki down in a straightjacket between experiments just to keep him from killing someone. At least at first: within the year, they were doing it prevent Loki from killing himself.

* * *

Tony was eight when he accidentally set a magical criminal free.

His nanny had come down with the flu and Tony had managed to cause an explosion in his father's lab that leveled the east wing of the mansion the last time he'd been left alone, Howard had to take him to work. Of course, Howard wasn't about to keep an eye on his son all the time when there was _science_ he could be doing, so he told Tony to stay put in the lobby and _behave_, and left to oversee his company.

Tony didn't do either.

Or rather, he meant to. But then he saw the sheets with the super-secret elevator codes and he just had to try them and see where they led.

Which was how he found himself in a basement level that was not in the plans of the building (not that he knew what those looked like), or even in the elevator display, watching an unwashed pale guy — gagged and tied up in a straightjacket — through a wall of glass only interrupted by a door and a flap to send food inside.

The curiosity burned in Tony. Why was there a guy in S.I? Why was he tied up? Why was he behind a glass wall like some snake in a zoo?

"Who are you?" Tony asked, his nose plastered to the glass to get a better look, his hands on either side of his face.

The guy seemed to startle, opening his eyes and seeking out where the voice had come from. His eyes were green and had circles so deep and purple underneath that they looked like someone had punched him on the nose. He made an enquiring noise.

"Right, you're gagged," Tony thought out loud, kicking the glass in disappointment. "Gah! This sucks. You are the first interesting thing I've seen in this whole damn place."

The guy nodded slowly and Tony could see the areas near the corner of his mouth wrinkle, as if saying '_yeah, I feel you, bro_.'

Ah, well, Tony had never been accused of being particularly tactful. It was part of the reason he had no friends in school, leaving out the kids who were only nice to him so he would share his stuff. "What the hell did you do to be stuck here?" he asked.

Suddenly, the guy started rubbing his face against his shoulder furiously.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked, his mouth curling in distaste. Did he have fleas? Was he scratching himself? This guy was sooo weird. And yet Tony, full of morbid curiosity, watched on, not wanting to miss a thing.

The rubbing stopped, and Tony could see that the gag had come off. "Hello, Child." The voice of the man was rough and very, very creepy.

_Awesome_. "Sorry, Mom always says not to talk to strangers," Tony quipped, excited, his breath clouding the glass whenever he exhaled. "My name isn't 'child', by the way." This guy was like a comic book villain.

The guy, his face still red with friction, replied, "Your mother is very wise and you should listen to her, not-Child." A smirk, and then, "My name is Loki. Tell me yours, and we shall no longer be strangers."

"Tony," Tony laughed, delighted at the loophole. "I'm Tony. Hello!"

Loki grinned widely. "Pleased to meet you, Tony," he said pleasantly and turned onto his belly, creeping like a caterpillar over to Tony.

It was funny, and Tony couldn't help but laugh. "You are funny," he announced needlessly, his eyes glued to the man in the straightjacket as he crept closer and brought himself to his knees in front of Tony. "How old are you? I'm eight and one third. How did you end up here?" he blabbed excitedly.

"You ask a lot of questions." A slow grin spread over Loki's thin pale lips. "You don't think this information will come cheaply, do you?" he asked, his face so close to the glass that Tony could see the cracks in his lips.

Tony huffed. "Fine, fine. What do you want in exchange?" He palmed his pockets. "I don't have much on me. A bar of chocolate," he listed, pulling it out. It was half-melted and covered in pocket-debris. "A lipstick I stole from Mom because I'm angry at her for leaving me alone with Howard. It's her favorite. A baseball hat, but it'll be too small for you. I don't even know how to get it through the wall."

Loki's grin got wider, most of his teeth showing by now. "The lipstick will do nicely. But I need you to do something for me with it."

The guy wanted the make-up? Even when it was full of mom-cooties? Tony blinked, processing that, and shrugged. "Yeah, sure, okay. What do I do?"

"Draw something for me?" Loki asked. "This place is sooo boring. Some art will spice it up, don't you think?"

Tony wrinkled his nose. Ugh, he hated drawing. "I don't know what to draw," he protested, not wanting to tell Loki the truth: that he hated art class since Tony's archenemy, one of his classmates, kept stealing his supplies.

"Mmm, that's fine, I'll tell you what to draw," Loki replied easily, "but it will be our little secret, yeah?"

"Sure," Tony agreed, wanting to get on with it so he could ask Loki his questions.

Loki guided Tony through drawing a series of geometrical figures and a few squiggly things Loki showed him by blowing on the glass and drawing with his long nose on the condensation. Tony's first sigil, complete with arcane runes, though he didn't know it yet.

Tony trailed the lipstick on the glass, having a blast, and then, when they finished it, he used the chocolate bar to continue the drawing. "Okay, done. Now what?"

Loki walked on his knees until he was next to the magic circle, and plastered himself to the glass. "Now step away," he said, "and watch the magic happen." He took a deep breath and held it, closing his eyes.

"Magic?" was all that Tony managed to get out before the glass under his drawing exploded outwardly, sending him flying. He landed on his back with a cry of pain, his head bouncing on the floor. When he inhaled next, the air was like fire in his throat and lungs, the tiny shards of pulverized fiberglass suspended in the air cutting his throat and lungs to ribbons. And his _eyes_ — they _hurt_ even as they watered from his violent coughing,

He heard an alarm sounding, and he could see red light flashing behind his closed eyelids. Then, he felt hands grabbing his arms and picking him up, dragging him away from the deadly mist.

The last thing he remembered was Loki's rough voice whispering in his ear, though he couldn't make out what was said.

Tony woke up from the drug-induced coma one week later. He had been operated on to remove the fiberglass dust from his lungs, but he would never be able to do strenuous physical activity ever again, and he would need an inhaler the rest of his life. His head was swathed in gauze. He had lost his sight not to the explosion, but to subsequent infection, and when they removed the bandages, to see how the damage was evolving, everything was dark.

The doctors excused themselves and walked out of his room, giving him privacy to cry. Neither his mother nor his father visited him, but Tony didn't blame them. Who would want a stupid gullible blind kid for a son?

* * *

Tony had just turned nine when his faith in magic was restored again.

He had insisted to Jarvis, the butler, that yes, he wanted to go to the park for his birthday. They had fed ducks and eaten ice-cream, even though it was chilly. Afterwards, Jarvis had given him a piggy-back ride back, because Tony had been too out of breath to walk.

The cold and the effort had been too much even so, and Tony had landed himself in the hospital with a brand new bout of pneumonia. It was OK, he had them often, he was used to it.

He had been dozing when someone came in and touched his hand, calling his attention.

"Hello, Tony," the man said, and his voice was not that of Dr. Bourgault, the usual pediatrician.

In fact, Tony couldn't place it at all. "You are new," he blurted out, his voice rough and frail, barely above a whisper. The distrust was clear — the stint with that Loki guy had taught him to distrust every adult he met that wasn't pre-approved by Maria, Uncle Obie or Jarvis.

"It's alright, Sweetie, I'm just a doctor," the adult explained. His voice was low and comforting.

Tony relaxed upon hearing it.

"Your usual doc called me to consult on you," the doctor explained. "He said the broad-spectrum antibiotics aren't cutting it. Do you know what those are?"

Tony did. He was an expert on them by now, as he had to take them every time his lungs acted up. "Pills," he answered, his hands clenching in the blankets. "Or IVs." He gestured to the IV drip by his side. Amoxicillin was the best he had had so far, but they had to switch them every time so the strains of bacteria wouldn't grow resistant.

"Usually, yes," the kind voice replied. "But this one I brought you is a bit different because your case is special. It's a natural concoction, mainly made of herbs and fruits."

Tony shrugged. "Yeah, sure, okay. Gimme." He held his hand out. Suddenly there was a glass in it. "Okay," he said, raising the glass to sniff it. It _did_ smell like fruity tea, so he brought it to his mouth and took a sip — and immediately spat it out. "Ugh, this tastes like boiled shit!" he complained, indignant.

The new doctor patted him on the head with a heavy hand. "Just man up and drink it, you crybaby," he chastised, his voice still amiable but now with a cold, hard edge to it.

Tony gulped. "Okay, okay, drinking it," he said hurriedly, hoping the man wouldn't tell Howard what a sissy Tony was being. He pinched his nose with his free hand and chugged the whole glass like it was milk, and then covered his mouth so he wouldn't puke it up afterwards.

He suddenly felt really tired and he dropped sideways.

The doctor caught him against his chest and put him back on the pillow without saying a word.

Tony wanted to say he smelled familiar, but he nodded off, his chest and eyes tingling pleasantly.

Next time he woke up, he could breathe. Even better, he could _see_.

In his hand, he found an empty tube of lipstick in Maria's favorite shade.


	2. Chapter 1

Tony ignored the buzzing in his pocket and turned to the pretty chick to his right, receiving the glass of scotch he had told her to get and noticing she didn't hand over the change.

He hadn't been expecting it back anyway: judging by the golden bracelets on her wrists — Cold Iron cuffs, he could spot them a mile away — she was a neutered witch. They tended to turn to petty crime if left to their own devices.

Well, it wasn't like couldn't afford it. He was a billionaire, after all.

Sending her a knowing smirk, Tony rolled the dice onto the table and took a sip, doing his best to ignore the tacky and loud background music.

They bounced on the back wall with a gentle clack and stopped.

"Winner eleven, pay the line," the stickman called out boredly.

Tony made a fistpump, turning to the woman who had assigned herself as his hookup for the night.

Sandra? Sasha? — definitely a stripper name, why couldn't he remember? — pressed close against him, shoving her shapely but definitely artificial boobs in his chest and directed her smoldering eyes into his. "This calls for a celebration," she purred in what she probably thought was a seductive way, stroking his pecs.

'_Planning to steal my wallet afterwards?_' Tony thought derisively, glancing down her excuse for a shirt, using the slight tint of the sunglasses as cover. '_Or perhaps just charge me for the fuck?_' Biting his lip, he leaned in as if to kiss her and murmured against her mouth, "We should just stay till the morning." He was on a streak after all, and he wouldn't touch an unnie, hooker or no, if his life depended on it.

Her mouth was probably a cesspool of STDs. Unbound witches tended to turn to crime to support themselves; female unbound witches turned to prostitution too. None of them ever did real work.

"Oh, you are unbelievable," came a voice from behind him. Rhodey's voice.

Yep, they had definitely noticed he had ditched them. Well, it wasn't Tony's fault that award-giving ceremonies were stuffy and boring as hell. Had Rhodey picked the short straw? Or had Obie convinced him to track Tony down?

"Oh, no, did they rope you into this?" Tony asked, annoyed at having been found out. Dice were ridiculously more fun than ceremonies — especially because he was developing a system and he needed to test it, thoroughly and many times. For science, of course.

"Nobody roped me into anything," Rhodey replied, getting between Tony and the hookup of the night. "But they told me—"

"I'm so sorry," Tony tried to interrupt.

"—that if I presented you with an award," Rhodey continued, unmoved, though looking down and sounding wounded, "you'd be deeply honored." He seemed to be biting the inside of his cheek.

'_They lied to you, whoever they may be_,' Tony thought. "Of course I'd be deeply honored," he replied absently. He'd been 'deeply honored' at least twice a year for the last five years; it was starting to feel a little_ routine_. Tony hated routine. "And it's you, that's great," he continued, looking around the table, checking if the girl was still there. "So when do we do it?"

"It's right here," Rhodey said, taking the award out of his jacket.

Uninterested, Tony called, "Ah, one more round—!"

"There you go." Rhodey waved the award in his face, trying to get him to at least look at it.

He saw it, alright. It was ugly and it looked strangely phallic. Must have been designed by some ultra-modern sculptor.

Tony didn't get modern art.

"Ah, there it is." Tony's words would have sounded delighted if anyone else had said them. '_Another day, another trophy_'. He looked at Rhodey. "See, that was easy."

Rhodey was looking at him impassively.

Ouch. Must really have hurt his feelings there, Tony. He murmured, "I'm so sorry," meaning it a bit this time, before handing the award over to Sally, or possibly Sarah. "Would you look at that."

The easy girl whose name began with an S — Tony was almost positive — grabbed it automatically, admiring it obligingly. She was probably debating whether to pocket it or not.

"I don't have one of those floating around," Tony added, hoping to aid her decision, and turned towards the table. He pushed a bunch of chips onto the Line bet. "We're gonna let it ride!" he exclaimed, grabbing the dice and offering them to Savannah? Sequoya? What was her name, anyway? "Give me a hand, will you? Give me a little something-something."

The girl blew on Tony's hand looking for all the world like she'd rather be blowing something else of his, meeting Tony's eyes suggestively and pursing her probably collagen-injected lips.

"Okay," Tony said, trying not to picture those full lips stretched around his cock, his hand moving on to Rhodey's face, "you too."

"I don't blow on a man's dice." Rhodey sounded annoyed.

"Come on, honey bear," Tony insisted, shaking his fist at Rhodey's mouth.

Rhodey slapped it away, obviously getting fed up with the whole thing.

It loosened Tony's hand around the dice, making them fly off onto the table.

"There it is," Tony exclaimed, grinning, for anyone to hear, "Lieutenant Colonel Rhodes rolls! And..."

"Two craps. Line away," the stickman announced, still sounding professionally bored.

Tony's experienced ear could tell he was trying not to laugh. He glared at Rhodey, trying to convey all his disappointment at having such a lame friend.

"That's what happens," Rhodey said, unapologetic.

"Worse things have happened, I think we're gonna be fine," Tony shrugged it off before turning to the man next to him. "Color me up, William."

"This is where I exit," Rhodey chimed in, apparently figuring out he would get about zero attention from Tony, let alone an actual apology.

"All right," Tony shrugged, not really caring either way, mentally preparing himself for the next bet. Rhodey would forgive him.

He always did. Always had, always would. Tony was his job, too, aside from his friend.

"Tomorrow, don't be late," Rhodey reminded him, sighing, before leaving.

* * *

Tony was about to get into his car, exiting the casino after dropping off the ugly-ass award with some asshat in a toga, when he heard a feminine voice.

"Mr. Stark! Excuse me, Mr. Stark."

He didn't turn, knowing his team of bodyguards would deal with her.

"Christine Everhart, Vanity Fair magazine," she continued. "Can I ask you a couple of questions?"

Could she? Tony turned towards his head of security.

"She's cute," Happy confirmed, looking over Tony's shoulder, knowing exactly what Tony cared about.

Tony turned around. Oh, hey, she was indeed cute. "Good call, Happy."

Happy nodded at the guys to let her through.

"Hi," she said, once she approached Tony.

Tony had already forgotten her name. Something with a C. "Hi," he replied dryly, looking her up and down. Better get this over with quickly, she looked determined to get her story first.

She pulled out a digital recorder and waved it in the same self-conscious way a smoker might wave a cigarette, silently asking permission to smoke.

Sure, why not. "Yeah. Okay, go."

She didn't give Tony much time to change his answer, quickly beginning the questions. "You've been called the da Vinci of our time. What do you say to that?"

Oh. She was_ that_ kind of reporter. Tony put on a serious face. "Absolutely ridiculous. I don't paint."

"And what do you say to your other nicknames?" Her cute and admiring façade dropped and now she looked at Tony like he was used bubble gum stuck to the red sole of her Louboutins. "The Merchant of Death? The Slave-Maker?" she spat.

Tony frowned, pretending to be repentant. Then, after considering it, he said, "That's not bad." They weren't — they actually made him sound like more of a BAMF than Rhodey's looks-like-an-avant-garde-dildo award. He studied her. "Let me guess. Berkeley?"

"Brown, actually," she corrected, full of herself. Like that made her more qualified to judge Tony.

"Well, Miss Brown," Tony began, arching an eyebrow. "it's an imperfect world, but it's the only one we've got. I guarantee you," he added, in a quietly belligerent way, almost defiantly, "the day technology is no longer needed to keep the peace in our country or outside it, I'll start making bricks and beams or baby hospitals."

C-something — Connie? Charlie? Whatever — didn't look impressed. "Rehearse that much?"

Tony almost smirked. "Every night in front of the mirror before bedtime."

"I can see that." She sneered at him.

Who actually sneered?

'_Why did I let myself get talked into this?_' Tony thought. '_Oh, right, sex_.' He was still wired from the hooker witch from the casino. He turned up the charm. "I'd like to show you first-hand." The innuendo was obvious. Would she take the bait?

"All I want is a serious answer," the reporter chick answered. She was still trying to play hardball despite her obvious interest in Tony — or rather, the inside of Tony's house.

"Okay, here's serious." Tony looked around, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "My old man had a philosophy. Peace means having a bigger stick than the other guy."

She pretended to be unimpressed. "That's a great line, coming from the guy selling the sticks."

Tony was getting tired of this already. Here all he had wanted was a lay that wasn't a cuffed unnie desperate for money, and the one that suited him perfectly didn't seem interested in cooperating. "My father helped defeat the Nazis. He worked on the Manhattan Project. A lot of people, including your professors at Brown, would call that being a hero."

If only they had known the real Howard Stark. Now _there_ was a monster.

"And a lot of people would also call that war profiteering," she retorted, probably feeling very smart .

'_Oh, give in already, lady!_ _Sleeping with me will be the story that makes your career!_' Tony snapped off his glasses, letting her feel the unadulterated intensity of the Stark stare. "Tell me, do you plan to report on the millions we've saved by advancing medical technology or kept from starvation with our intelli-crops?" How's that for a counter-argument?

There. She looked down.

Chasing her eyes, Tony continued. "All those breakthroughs? Military funding, Honey."

She looked speechless, either at having been one-upped or at Tony's sheer presence. "You ever lose an hour of sleep your whole life?" Even though her words were harsh, there was a softer quality to her voice and her pupils dilated.

She was still trying. Badly, with ad hominem attacks, but still trying.

Tony leered at her, knowing he had her in the bag. "I'd be prepared to lose a few with you." He turned and got into his car, leaving the door open. Sometimes it paid to remind people of all the good he did in the world. Or of his animal magnetism.

Would that tempt her? Inviting her into his house?

She followed, her eyes glittering.

But not with lust. Not for Tony, at least.

They glittered with greed for all the inside info she thought she would find just lying around.

As if Tony was that careless.

* * *

Pepper found Tony customizing an engine of one of his cars the following day.

He was in the middle of disassembling it to the rhythm of the bass guitar of Institutionalized when the music suddenly cut off. Without missing a beat, he said, "Please don't turn down my music," even though he said it every time Pepper did it, and she kept doing it.

"You," Pepper started accusingly, "are supposed to be in New Mexico right now."

Tony ignored it. "How'd she take it?" he asked, referring to the reporter having been thrown out like so much trash, and without one scrap of a story, too. He continued taking the engine apart. It's not like he cared either way. He was just making small-talk, or else Pepper would start nagging.

"Like a champ," Pepper replied.

Tony didn't give her time to compose another sentence. "Why are you trying to hustle me out of here?" he asked, still not pausing in his work. Not even looking at her.

First Rhodey, then the reporter, then Pepper. Why were people so desperate to control him?

Pepper sighed. "Your flight was scheduled to leave an hour and a half ago." She didn't even bother scolding him — she just sounded like she had given up.

"That's funny," Tony began, forcefully ignoring how tired Pepper sounded, "I thought, with it being my plane and all, that it would just wait for me to get there." Perfectly sound assumption.

She didn't sound like she cared. "Tony, I need to speak to you about a couple things before I get you out of the door."

What followed next was three minutes of Pepper badgering Tony about either his schedule, reminding him of his responsibilities (Eugh) or stuff he had said he wanted to do and never done.

Tony turned around to face her, noticing how stressed she looked, her normally perfect hair falling out of place, her makeup slightly less perfect that she usually wore it, even though it was still morning. He still replied with his usual banter. She wouldn't be his assistant if she couldn't handle it.

She ended the exchange by sticking a form and a pen under his nose, saying, "I need you to sign this before you get on the plane."

Again with the plane! "What are you trying to get rid of me for?" Tony asked, more accusingly than curious. "What, you got plans?"

"As a matter of fact, I do."

What? Tony frowned. "I don't like it when you have plans." What if she realized what an asshole Tony was and decided to leave?

Pepper raised an eyebrow. "I'm allowed to have plans on my birthday."

'_Fuck_.' "It's your birthday?" Forgotten birthdays, although a Stark specialty, trumped getting kicked out of the house. "I knew that," he lied. "Already?"

"Yeah. Isn't that strange? It's the same day as last year." Pepper's voice dripped with sarcasm but she didn't look offended. Must be all the times Tony had forgotten.

_'Yep. She's annoyed_.' Tony looked briefly away. "Get yourself something nice from me."

"I already did," she replied, smiling.

Oh, really now. "And?"

"It was very nice. Very tasteful." Of course it was, she had chosen it. "Thank you, Mr. Stark." She smiled. Not sarcasm, just a private joke.

There was one advantage to being an asshole — he didn't have notice stuff about people and pretend to do thoughtful gifts.

Tony grinned. "You're welcome, Miss Potts." He knew he was forgiven.

* * *

Rhodey received him with a scolding. "Three hours," he demanded. "What's wrong with you?"

As if he felt entitled to politeness and consideration from Tony.

Ha! As if he didn't know Tony at all.

"Well, I'm waiting on you now," Tony retorted, trying not to let the you-let-me-down face affect him. It shouldn't. It _didn't_. Rhodey was an entitled ass. He continued walking into the plane and immediately settled down.

But Rhodey was like a Rottweiler with a bone and he kept going off about how he wasn't offended because he was Tony's babysitter, how Tony should only call him when he needed his diaper changed, about how Tony was irresponsible, how he shouldn't drink, nag, nag,_ nag_.

Yeah, as if Tony didn't know all that already.

Tony, as always, did what he wanted, drinking sake, turning up the music, getting the stewardesses relaxed and dancing on the pole he's had installed when he bought the plane.

Rhodey ended up getting a bit tipsy, filling Tony's ears with shit about teammates and loyalty and homies having each other's backs...

Tony loved Rhodey, no homo, as much as he was capable of loving someone. But still, what a pain in the ass.

* * *

Assorted people were waiting for them when they got out of the plane. Military, Air Force, MCU, the works. They looked annoyed at having to wait under the hot New Mexico sun for Tony to show his face.

Well, no one pointed a gun at them and told them to do it, so Tony didn't care.

(Most people didn't like Tony. He wondered why.)

They proceeded to take him to the complex where they were keeping the escaped Numbers they had managed to recapture, cuff and beat into submission.

Tony walked amongst them like a rose in a garden of weeds. They were covered in desert dust, dressed in those ugly military uniforms, with skin tinged pink from the sun, while Tony looked like he had just stepped out of a Forbes Magazine photo-shoot. He sniffed a couple times — he didn't like the way the dust settled in his nose.

They got into Humvees — because apparently the military were allergic to inconspicuous cars — and rode off into the city to the nearest House.

Tony's Humvee carried a case with the new AP tech he had developed for the Department of Defense. Everything from standard cuffs and Tasers to the crown jewels: mines and projectiles. Fun stuff.

Rhodey's carried the minibar.

They House they arrived to was huge. Apparently everything was big in Albuquerque just by virtue of there being a lot of space, but it was huge even by New Mexico standards. Imposing. Tony was sure they would have painted it black or grey if it wasn't in a city in the middle of a desert. Black would be a very bad idea, but not worse that the cheery pastel yellow they had settled for. Yuck.

The Housekeeper was a tank of a woman with steely eyes and an even steelier jawline, hair cropped short in a buzz cut. She reminded Tony Miss Trunchbull, only vastly less feminine.

He still stuck out his hand in an easy greeting, not really intimidated, but half afraid she would crush his hand.

Amazingly, she went full-out fangirl on him, shaking his hand and aggressively praising him for his technology and how it had made her life so much easier, advanced the progress of the human race, et cetera.

Tony retained a smile throughout it all, receiving the ego stroking like the pro he was. Then he cleared his throat and asked if they could get on with the demo already, he had places to be and people to do.

She led him and his entourage of assorted armed forces representatives to the courtyard, where she had already assembled the most troublesome and most powerful of the numbers under her care, chained to posts with delicate gold-titanium alloy magic suppressing chains. "There you go, Mr. Stark."

Tony surveyed the victims of his demonstration. There were about fifteen of them, all dressed in the faded yellow-green overalls characteristic of House inmates. A nice mix of men and women, most of them unwashed; some of them looking around with a thousand-yard stare, others glaring defiantly at Tony and pulling on their chains.

He grinned. The courtyard was nice and big, not quite the size of a block but respectable. He'd demonstrate the grenade, then. The same technology was in the bazooka ammo, in mines, in anything big enough. The grenade should be suitably impressive. He cleared his throat.

Everyone stood at attention. There was some energy in the air, a charge, as though everyone knew something momentous was going to happen.

"Some people say the best weapon," Tony began, setting the briefcase on a bench, "is one you never have to fire." He scoffed. "I respectfully disagree. I prefer the weapon you only have to fire once." He opened the case. "That's how Dad did it," and everyone celebrated him for it. "That's how America does it. And it's worked out pretty well so far." He reached into the case.

Everyone leaned closer, expectant.

Tony thought they all looked like eager puppies. Not that he had ever had one of those, it would be dead within the week. "Find an excuse to let one of these," he withdrew a small ball, black, that fit in his palm, and showed it to everyone, "off the chain, and I personally guarantee you those unnie witchers won't even want to do magic ever again." He handed the small grenade to Rhodey and ordered, "Release them."

The Housekeeper looked at him with wide eyes. "I beg your pardon?"

It really was a bit nuts. All of those musers were powerful, since the government didn't bother to keep anything below a two point five, and, at this distance, with their magic augmented by their anger and resentment, releasing them was a recipe for suicide.

"Did I stutter?" Tony said, annoyed. He wanted to go back inside, back to the air con in the Humvees but noooo, Miss Trunchbull wanted to play Be-Obtuse-And-Annoy-Tony.

She glared at him as if saying, '_It's your funeral_,' and pressed a button.

Rhodey tossed the grenade.

All the chains and cuffs fell off.

"For your consideration," Tony said, unfazed, "the Deadlock line."

The Numbers were too stunned to move at first. Then, seeing their chance, they sprang into action. One turned into a bear, other two grew fireballs in their hands, yet another seemed ready to demolish the entire building with one footstep.

The small, comically unassuming ball rolled to roughly the middle of the courtyard, where it stopped. The little red light turned on, off, then on and it turned green.

And all fifteen of the unnies dropped to the floor, colored smoke oozing from their every orifice. Some of them clutched at their throats and coughed and sputtered, convulsing, the rest simply laid there, staring numbly at places, breathing hard.

"What—what is that?" one of the lieutenant colonels asked breathily.

"Their magic, escaping their bodies and dissolving on contact with the air," Tony replied nonchalantly, examining his fingernails, walking over to the bigger case. The demo was over, as far as he was concerned, so he got a tumbler and a bottle of scotch from it and poured himself a drink.

Someone came running through the door, stopping short when they spotted the reunion of bigwigs.

"Ma'am?" the orderly said, going straight to her and whispering in her ear.

The Housekeeper turned her wide eyes to Tony. "All the unnies in the building have collapsed," she said, and she sounded giddy. "The exact same affliction. That little ball...?"

Tony nodded, swirling the scotch around in the glass. "Yep. That little ball affects every muser within a two hundred feet radius." He sipped it. Mm, needed more ice. "The higher the rank, the greater the effect. Which is why us Zeros are completely unharmed."

"What about wards and enchantments?" one old guy, probably a general or the equivalent, asked.

"And is it only grenades?" someone else cut in before Tony could answer.

"Raise your hands, gentlemen," Tony quipped, amused, taking another sip. "Yes, it also affects wards and enchantments, except those laid in sigils. Think of my device as an EMP that affects only magic." He turned towards the other asker and laughed. "Only grenades? What do you take me for? The tech can be installed in mines, rockets, bazookas... The sky is the limit."

They crowded around him, armed with a thousand and one questions.

Tony reveled in it.

* * *

After everything was done, all Tony wanted was to get back on the jet, drink something with ice in it and go home. He made a beeline for the Humvees, getting into the only one that had people nearby.

A young, entrepreneurial cadet of some sort closed the door after he'd taken his seat, which happened to be just as Rhodey approached.

"Hey, Tony," Rhodey began.

Oh, boy, not another sermon.

Tony poked his head out of the window. "I'm sorry, this is the Funvee. The Hum-Drum-vee is back there," he pointed at the Humvee Rhodey had rode in.

"Nice job," Rhodey said, sounding suddenly more aggressive that congratulatory.

"See you back at base," Tony replied, wondering what bug had bit him. He took a sip of his drink.

The driver turned the Humvee on and began the boring and monotonous trip back to the airstrip. After five minutes of tense travel with no one speaking and everyone taking turns to watch Tony, Tony exploded.

"I feel like you're driving me to a court-martial," he complained in his best level-with-me voice. "This is crazy. What did I do? I feel like you're going to pull over and snuff me." Hopefully that would prompt them into filling the silence.

The soldiers looked away from him, still not saying anything. The one on the back seat with Tony looked like he was biting his tongue.

This was ridiculous. "What, you're not allowed to talk?" Tony asked. "Hey, Forrest!"

The one next to Tony bit out, "We can talk, Sir."

"Oh, I see. So it's personal?" Tony wondered what these three strapping young men could possibly have against him. Maybe one of them was a journalism student?

The driver answered. "No, you intimidate them."

The voice was distinctively female.

"Good God, you're a woman," Tony observed, surprised. Apparently there was no sexual dimorphism among the military. "I honestly... I couldn't have called that," he admitted. "I mean, I'd apologize, but isn't that what we're going for here?"

Backseat and Shotgun, both male, shared a grin as though there was some private joke Tony was missing.

"I thought of you as a soldier first," Tony added, waving his tumbler expressively, liking how relaxed the atmosphere was getting. "You have, actually, excellent bone structure, there." Thank fuck there was a woman. Tony could charm them really easily. "I'm kind of having a hard time not looking at you now," he flirted. "Is that weird?"

That earned him a few aborted chuckles.

He grinned. "Come on, it's okay, laugh."

Shotgun turned around in his seat. "Sir, I have a question to ask," he said, even going as far as to raise his hand.

Adorable. "Yes, please," Tony invited.

"Is it true you went 12 for with last year's Maxim cover models?"

Really? That was what he wanted to know? Tony's sexploits?

Well then. "That is an excellent question." Tony took off his sunglasses to look the guy in the eye, almost daring him to check for himself if Tony was lying. "Yes and no. March and I had a scheduling conflict, but, fortunately, the Christmas cover was twins."

More chuckles. Even Miss Driver laughed.

Tony couldn't wait to tell Pepper that he'd met a woman who wasn't offended by Tony talking about the notches on his bedpost. Well, she was practically one of the guys, but Tony would make sure to omit that little detail. "Anything else?" he asked.

Backseat raised his hand timidly.

Tony arched an eyebrow at him. "You're kidding me with the hand up, right?"

"Is it cool if I take a picture with you?"

Huh. "Yes. It's very cool."

"All right," Backseat celebrated, taking out a very old and crappy digital camera, handing it over to Shotgun.

As the man grabbed it and raised his hands to take the picture, Tony noticed he was wearing solid black cuffs. Huh, a dog of the military? Who would have thought they would invite him to the AP-weapons demo?

"I don't want to see this on your MySpace page," Tony warned. He noticed Backseat was holding up his hand in a peace symbol. "Please, no gang signs."

Backseat looked dejected, but he brought his hand down.

Oh, boy, he was like a puppy. "No, throw it up," Tony amended, "I'm kidding."

Then, as Shotgun said to say 'whiskey', something landed on the Humvee in front of them.

It exploded.

They didn't get enough time to brake and drove straight into the wreckage, the debris landing on the windshield, the rough stop making the Humvee shake ominously.

Miss Driver, apparently the either the one with highest rank or a natural leader, began screaming orders.

"What's going on?" Tony asked, wide-eyed. The last explosion he had seen that was not caused by himself had left him blind for a year. "What have we got?" he asked desperately, wanting to do something.

Driver got out of the vehicle, and was shot down by a beam of light.

Everyone held their breaths.

Magic.

"Jimmy, stay with Stark!" Shotgun yelled, getting out and going to Driver's body.

What a moment to have left the rest of the Deadlocked weapons in Rhodey's care!

More shots, sizzling and electric, hit the side of the Humvee.

"Stay down!" Backseat — no, Jimmy said, covering Tony with his body.

Well, Tony wasn't going to argue.

They watched as Shotgun riffled through Driver's pockets and found a little black key, as he nervously tried to fit it into his cuffs, as he got zapped by an ugly purple lightning bolt before he managed — as he exploded, painting the windshield with blood and chunks of viscera.

Tony closed his eyes, looking away. Fuck, fuck, he needed out.

"Son of a bitch!" Jimmy shouted, getting out of the car, leaving Tony _defenseless._

"Wait, wait, wait!" Tony shouted, desperate. "Give me a gun!"

Jimmy didn't hear him. "Stay here!" he instructed before turning around. Not a second later, he was taken down by some sort of animal, only made of sand. It dragged him into the smoke and clouds of dust, leaving a trail of blood on the sand.

Tony didn't stay. He forced the door open, staggered out in the confusion and looked around for a gun, for Jimmy's rifle, or maybe Driver's, anything.

He found one, slick with blood and possibly chunks of bone. He grabbed it all the same. He could hear exchange of fire and the electric sizzling of spells.

Someone in the other Humvees must still be alive. He dearly hoped it was Rhodey. Fuck, what if he died after having been let down by Tony three times in a row?

Tony vowed he'd stop being an ass to him, if they both got home alive. Taking the safety off the rifle, he began running to where the sound of fighting originated.

From amidst the smoke rising from the wreckage of another Humvee, a figure approached him, hand raised, poised to snap.

Magic user. _Warlock._

Tony brought up the rifle, put it on automatic and pulled the trigger.

At the same time, the warlock snapped his or her hand.

Something red and black and ethereal smashed into Tony's chest, taking him down. His rifle kept shooting, and he had the satisfaction of hearing a scream of pain.

"No! What have you done?!" a distant voice demanded, sounding outraged.

_'I returned fire_,' Tony thought, proud. He hadn't frozen, he had attacked back. Through a red haze, he saw the figure in the smoke tumble to its knees, and he rejoiced. His chest hurt. It felt like something was melting his skin, eating at the sternum. Tony whimpered, but refused to cry out.

There were the sounds of footsteps. Someone saying "No, no, no," over and over.

Tony opened his eyes, and saw a figure kneeling next to him.

Dirty jeans. No military uniform.

Another warlock.

'_Fuck, he's gonna kill me off_,' he thought. '_I don't wanna die. I don't wanna die. Not here_.'

The person, the warlock, turned Tony over onto his back.

The unforgiving sun shone in Tony's eyes, blinding him. He tried to grope around, get his rifle, but the warlock stopped him

"Shhh now, none of that," he, definitely a he, said. Almost soothingly. The same that had shouted before.

There was something about that voice...

The warlock put his hands on Tony's chest, where the pain was.

Tony braced himself for the worst—

The hands glowed.

—the pain lessened.

Tony squinted, trying to see the figure's face, but it was backlit by the sun, a black cut-out in a sea of blinding light. "You—you're helping me," he managed, confused as hell.

"So I am," the warlock said. "Now stay still, Tony Stark." He leaned forward, his head blocking the sun, his messy hair shining like a halo around his head.

Suddenly, Tony could see his face. His eyes widened. "You," he spat. His hands groped at the warlock's, trying to get them off his chest, to stop the spell.

Loki smiled, sharp like a knife. "I see you remember me," he murmured. "The great Tony Stark. Oh, you certainly have grown up."

The hands grew brighter, the pain got intolerable, and Tony screamed.

Then his vision went black.


	3. Chapter 2

Loki's right hand was buried wrist-deep in Stark's chest, fighting magic with magic.

The Flesh-Eating curse that Spitzner, the blind idiot, had shot at the man was not as effective as it could have been. Mainly because it was a rank four spell and Spitzner was—_had been_ barely a rank three, but also because Stark had managed to shoot him mid-casting and thus cut the strength of the spell in half.

Regardless of how poorly it had been cast, the curse was still incurable. It was designed that way; it would go on eating and devouring until all the body of the recipient was consumed. That it was at half-potency only meant that Stark's death would only be that much slower and more tortuous.

Loki had not returned a child's health, eyesight, and wonder in magic only to have it wasted like this, orders or no orders.

He suddenly that realized the sound of fighting had stopped and that could hear someone running towards him. Had the army prevailed? Had his allies? Had one part merely retreated? He couldn't know. Couldn't check. Couldn't leave Stark for dead, for all that the man and his creations were the bane of magic users.

It wasn't supposed to be like this.

So he fought.

But his magic was weakening, getting used up. It had to re-bind the matter that the curse ate through and it was taxing on Loki, who even past his first magical maturity was barely even a three point five in rank. Three thousand thaums would never be enough to counteract a curse that used ten thousand. To make matters worse, the land was too barren to draw from, and he was far from any leyline he could use.

Seeing no other option, Loki rummaged through Stark's pockets, trying to find anything he could carve a sigil in. A coin, a pair of glasses.

Nothing.

The steps were growing closer.

Loki gathered his magic just in case, a spell ready on his lips as he turned to look.

Not military.

He grinned, relieved, recognizing them.

"Boss, what are you doing?" one asked. "We have to leave. Now!"

Yeah. A retreat, then. "Cuccia, Russell," he ordered in his best commander voice, "help me carry him to the car."

"Who is it?" Cuccia asked, already hanging his staff from the sling across his shoulders and leaning down.

Russell stood back. "It's Stark," he spat, looking at Loki with betrayal. "Why are you helping him? We came here to kill him!" he demanded

Loki gave him a hard stare. "Russell. It is not your place to question me. Help. I need to be in contact all the time." He could already feel some of the lung tissue disappearing into the ether against his hand.

The young freedom fighter sighed and leaned down, grabbing Stark's ankles, grumbling all the time.

Together with Cuccia, who had hooked his hand under Stark's armpits, they carried the unconscious man to the nearest Humvee, while Loki walked next to them with his hand still buried in Stark's chest, trying to hold the curse back. They put him down in the backseat with Loki and got in.

"No, wait," Loki said urgently, seeing Stark's face going ashen. "Cuccia, bring me that car's battery." He pointed at another Humvee that was nearby.

Cuccia obeyed without question, jumping out the vehicle and running. He had to use magic to open the hood, but he soon managed and grabbed the battery, tearing it out cables and all.

Russell had already started the Humvee and drove to him so he could get in without wasting more of their precious time. Once Cuccia was back in, he sped off — and not a moment too soon.

Two seconds after they had moved away, a bazooka shell landed in the place they had been.

Loki didn't notice, he was too busy. "Do any of you have a coin?" he asked, frantic.

Silence, at first.

Then, Cuccia said, "I think I do," and began rummaging through his pockets.

Russell, glared at him, then at Loki through the rearview mirror. "Why? What are you helping him for? He is everything we stand against!"

Stark's heart was fluttering like a trapped butterfly under Loki's palm.

"He is a key pawn in my plan," Loki said, meeting his eyes, returning the glare. "Now shut up and drive, Cuccia!" he barked, extending his hand meaningfully in the man's direction.

"Yes, yes, acquiring, hang on, Boss," the man said, finally pulling out the coins. "I got a dollar and three quarters." He showed Loki the hand with the change.

None of them were remotely big enough.

Loki looked apprehensive. It was a three hour drive, at least, to their base, _if_ nothing happened during the way. _If_ no one attacked them, _if_ no policemen stopped them. Far too many _if_s. '_Worry about that later_,' he ordered himself. "Cuccia, please say you have affinity with metals," he begged, his voice coming out in a whisper.

"I don't, Boss," he answered, shameful, probably feeling Loki's urgency and hating that he wasn't able to do anything about it.

No, no, no. The curse was nearly to Stark's heart by now, and it was only because Loki's hand was in the middle that it hadn't reached it yet. The curse taking the long way round, through Stark's lungs, and Loki couldn't keep up with it much longer. His desperation must have shown in his face.

Russell coughed. "I can." He looked at Loki briefly. "It better be a good plan," he grumbled, before taking the coins out of Cuccia's hand. "Take over the wheel, this takes concentration."

Cuccia, obligingly, grabbed the wheel. The ride suddenly got bumpy, but no one cared.

"I need you to make a flat disc, about two inches wide," Loki explained, already designing possible sigils in his head. "As flat as you can. It's for sygaldry."

Russell complied. "I never thought I'd see the day where we would be saving Tony Stark's life. And with_ magic_ at that," he scoffed, before pressing his hands together, the coins snug between them. He muttered something under his breath, some word of power (or maybe a prayer, it was the same thing when dealing with elemental magic) and concentrated.

A silver glow lit his hands from within.

Panting slightly, Russell gave the resulting flat disc to Loki and reclaimed his steering wheel.

"Thank you, Russell," Loki said absently, admiring the work and looking for any flaw. It was so smooth it looked like it had been polished. "This is perfect. Cuccia, can you cloak the car?"

Cuccia looked around nervously. "I can try. Veils are not my area of expertise, Boss."

Of course not; they were Loki's. Cuccia was, primarily, a combat wizard, and, secondarily, a fire elemental. But no one who didn't know how to throw up a basic veil was ever sent out on missions, so he'd cook something up.

"It's called a Humvee, but the way. It's not a car," Cuccia teased, his eyes tight with the effort.

Loki didn't care what the vehicle was or wasn't called; he was busy concentrating. He had nothing he could use to carve the sigil into the metal, so he would have to use magic. He wasn't good at metal work, so he didn't even bother attempting to trick the metal into assuming the form he wanted it to. He was, however, extremely proficient at energy conversion.

Case in point, he could convert the kinetic energy in the air molecules into kinetic energy that deformed the metal where he wanted lines.

The air in the Humvee got extremely cold, so much that Stark's next wobbly exhale was a puff of white and there were visible trails of fog coming from the wound on his chest. The climate was too arid, or else there would have been frost on every surface as well.

But the sygaldry was done.

Now, to connect it to a power source.

Loki grabbed the car battery he had forced Cuccia to bring and connected the cables at the appropriate points in the sigil, fusing the metals drawing on his own body heat, as he had nothing else to use. He waited a few minutes until he felt the magic field grow stable and, removing his hand from Stark's chest cavity, stuffed the coin inside, pressing it against his wildly beating heart.

Stark's tissues began seeping blood. Or rather, they kept on seeping blood but the curse wasn't eating it as soon as it came out anymore. The makeshift sigil worked. He could get a medic to re-create Stark's esophagus, trachea and lungs later, it wasn't vital right now. He had managed to keep the corruption away from the heart and the main blood vessels, so that was good enough. He would need to seal the lungs with his hand so Stark could breathe, but that only needed pressure, no magic.

"It worked?" Cuccia asked, voice strained. His forehead was decorated with beads of sweat.

Right, the veil. "Yeah," Loki sighed, exhausted. He took a couple of breaths to steady his hands and his magic, and then, grabbing one of his throwing knives, began carving symbols into the interior walls of the Humvee with his free hand. When he was finished, he said, "You can drop the veil. I'll take over," and jammed his knife into one of the sigils.

Cuccia smiled gratefully and obeyed.

Loki poured magic down the knife and into the spellwork. It was amazingly efficient, refracting light so it came out the other end exactly the same way it hit the Humvee, rendering them invisible for all intents and purposes. It still sapped magic, though. Magic that Loki couldn't really spare but he did it nonetheless.

"Boss, can we roll down the windows yet?" Russell asked, "I'm freezing my balls off."

Laughing breathlessly, Loki allowed it and settled back more comfortably. It was going to be a long ride.

* * *

No one was expecting Tony Stark to come back with them.

No one wanted to waste an infirmary bed on vermin like him.

Loki was too out of it to argue. He was falling asleep on his feet, his hand still sealed over the holes in Stark's lungs because it was crusted to them with congealed blood.

Luckily, Cuccia and Russell were two loyal people and they argued on Loki's behalf, telling everyone how desperately Loki had fought to keep him alive, so he must have a plan, right? A plan that involved a living, breathing Tony Stark.

The healers took Stark from Loki. In his shock, caused by magical exhaustion, he wanted to go with them, but one of the healers told him to sit the hell down before he fainted and stuck her hand in Stark's chest, relieving him in his duty of holding the man together.

They carried the unconscious zero on a makeshift stretcher to the infirmary while Cuccia and Russell took Loki to his room so he could wash the blood off and then catch up on much needed sleep.

Loki stayed out of commission for seven hours straight. He didn't dream, he barely moved. When he woke up, head heavy with deep sleep, he was confused as to where he was. He tried to get up at all costs, despite the hands pushing him back down.

He knew something had happened. Then he remembered.

Stark.

Assassination attempt.

Saving him against orders.

"Stark?" he asked, finally getting his bearings.

There was a healer there with him. "Alive," he said.

Loki blinked the fog out of his eyes. Ah, Alvarado. Right. He attempted to sit up.

"No," Alvarado said, pushing him down. "You have exhausted yourself. Seven hours is not enough."

Fine. Loki let himself fall back down. "How is he?"

Alvarado looked down briefly. "Like I said, alive. We cut out most of the cursed tissue, regenerated the missing parts. Castiglione almost fainted afterwards."

Castiglione's healing power ranked in the high fours. The damage must have been incredible.

Hang on. Loki's tired mind caught onto sometime Alvarado had said. "Most of?" he parroted, narrowing his eyes.

The healer winced. "That was some impressive artificing," he commented. "It kept the curse well contained. But Ramirez, who was minding the battery... He made a wrong move at some point, and disconnected it."

Loki's eyes widened as he considered the implications. He inhaled sharply.

Alvarado looked at the wall on Loki's other side. "By the time we managed to reconnect it, the curse had spread to his heart. We reconstructed the few missing pieces, but..." He shook his head wordlessly.

He didn't need to say it. Loki could guess. Their infirmary was makeshift, as everything in their base. They would never operate on a heart unless they could count on a fully equipped OR. So the curse was still there, dormant in Stark's heart, just waiting until someone disconnected the battery.

It was so sad. Stark was only, what, twenty six? Twenty five? He should still have the heart of a horse.

"There is more," Alvarado said suddenly. "He's got the shakes."

The what?

Loki sat up before he could be stopped — hello there, dizzy spell —and turned to the healer, blinking the black spots from his vision. "The shakes?"

Alvarado nodded. "A symptom of withdrawal."

Loki shook his head slowly, exhaling softly.

_Stark was a drug addict. _

So Loki had spared his pitiful life only for the addiction to take him. _How_ was he an addict? He had everything he could possibly want from life! Why, that ungrateful little—

"Loki?" Alvarado asked, sounding worried.

Loki must have been quiet and still for too long. He shook his head, dismissing the man's concerns. "It's nothing," he murmured, looking down. His hands clenched in the thin covers of his bed. "I want to see him."

Alvarado gave him a look. "No. You are far too weak, and we cannot spare another bed."

If Stark was going through withdrawal, Loki wanted to be there to see it. But there was no arguing with healers. Loki wouldn't be going anywhere — let alone the infirmary — until he could walk on his own without falling over.

He resigned himself. "Fine," he grunted, flopping back onto the bed, "but send someone for me if he gets worse."

"Sure thing," Alvarado agreed, relieved.

They both knew he wouldn't.

"And remember," the healer added, " no magic for two days, at least. You burned out your pathways, give them time to recover."

Loki turned his back on the healer, facing the wall. "Close the door on your way out," he snapped.

Alvarado turned off the light and left, closing the door. Since the room didn't have any windows, as it was underground and no one wanted to waste magic on artificial ones, it plunged everything into darkness.

Loki enjoyed the darkness. It was peaceful.

He fell asleep within seconds.

* * *

When he woke up, the first thing he did was pointedly not visit Stark, his prisoner.

Instead, Loki went about his usual morning routine, taking more time with it than usual, as his body still protested the strain it had been put through. Some light exercise to wake up his muscles, a hot shower to soothe them, a shave, and then checking up on his chores for the day while he ate breakfast.

It turned out he had been taken out of the chores rota on healer's orders, so he was actually free for the first time in a while. Having nothing else to do, he decided to go to Thanos to give his report on yesterday's mission, and only then check up on Stark. After finishing breakfast, of course.

Thanos found him first.

"Loki Olson, what is the meaning of this!" he demanded, his complexion purpling alarmingly. "You bring your mark alive — here, to our base of operations! — and then I find you eating as if nothing happened?"

Loki stood up from his seat, dusting his faded black fatigues as he did so, and squared his shoulders. "Sir," he greeted, not even bothering to explain, knowing from Thanos's color that the man wasn't ready to listen to Loki's defense.

"I sent that team to kill him, and you begged to be the one in charge." Thanos pointed an accusatory finger at Loki. "You spun a tale of revenge, and swore to me, swore, that you'd see him dead. But no! You saved his life." He exhaled through his nose, not terribly dissimilar from a bull. "You actively helped him live. And then you somehow convinced you squad to help?! You had orders!"

The sound of Thanos grinding his teeth could be heard in the whole room.

"With all due respect, Thanos," Loki said calmly, almost sounding bored, really, "they were stupid orders, so I elected to ignore them."

It wasn't like they hadn't danced this dance a millions times already. Thanos had the right idea about how to fight back against the oppression, but he had little knowledge of politics or how to keep morale high. Whenever he made a stupid decision, Loki corrected it without asking permission first, and everyone was happier in the end.

Like how Thanos had wanted to base their operation inside the US and how Loki had arranged for it to happen in Mexico instead, well out of the jurisdiction of most of the vague yet menacing agencies that hunted them so fiercely. Since they were out of the US, people who fled the regime by emigrating or outright crossing the borders illegally had flocked to them, giving them a home front that kept them fed, stocked and generally useful.

If only Thanos could actually thank him instead of glaring at him as though he was nothing but a conniving upstart who sought to overthrow him and take control of MAGI, Loki would be happy too.

Thanos was doing it now, giving Loki the look he always did before Loki explained his reasoning.

All Loki wanted from life was for someone to get the joke without him having to dissect it and masticate it and feed it to them watered down. Oh, and freedom to use magic in his home country. That would be nice too.

He sighed. The mess hall was packed with people. He hated working crowds when he was at a disadvantage.

Even Thanos's little brother — whom Loki had taken to calling 'the Other Thanos' so as not to mix them up, since everyone went by their last names here except Loki — was there, with his whole squad.

"Explain," Thanos commanded, not quite as purple now.

Loki smirked. He knew Thanos wanted him to make an ass out of himself in public. '_He never does learn, does he?_' he thought. If Thanos set up the stage for his own humiliation, Loki might as well oblige him. "I thought killing Stark would be a waste," he said simply.

"Really now?" the Other commented, eyebrow raised.

"Indeed," Loki nodded. "I thought that, since we were so close to base, it would be more to our interests to kidnap him."

The Other scoffed. "What, and torture him into making magic weapons for us?" he mocked.

It wasn't actually a bad idea, on paper. Thanos seemed to like it.

Loki rolled his eyes. "Obviously not. Why ever would I want to give him insight into how magic really works?" Mm, wasn't a bad idea, actually. He might have to revisit that later. For now, he had an idiot to chew out. "So he can pretend to comply while he makes his escape thanks to all the freedom we gave him, and then make even better weapons against us?" He sniffed, crossing his arms. "Whose side are you on, Other Thanos?"

The Other snarled, but his face was pinkening.

Thanos looked torn between laughing at his baby bro's humiliation and wanting to eviscerate Loki for being its cause. He refrained from either. "What for, then?"

Loki smiled his knife smile. "To hold him for ransom, of course."

There were mutters among the gathered. They didn't seem negative.

Deciding to take that as encouragement, Loki continued. "Not for money, of course, since we have all the funding we need." Their community was relatively new but already self-sufficient. "We demand that Stark Industries stops producing AP weapons."

Thanos seemed unimpressed. "That will never happen in a million years. I'd rather kill Stark right now." He turned towards the door.

Loki moved to block him. "There is more. His life is dependent on magic now. He has become the very thing he works to see enslaved." He grinned nastily. "Allow him to stay. Allow him to see just how little his company thinks of him. And in his loneliness, in his feelings of betrayal, we shall appear as a balm."

There was a glint in Thanos's eye. "And then, we release him back into the people that have betrayed him..."

"...and he will long for the sweet company of those who helped him in his time of need," Loki finished, his eyes dancing with mirth. "Who healed him when he was wounded, asking for nothing in return."

Thanos looked impressed. So did almost everyone else.

Except the Other Thanos. "It's a long shot. You are counting on him having even a shard of conscience left," he argued. "What if it doesn't sway him at all?"

"Then, we kill him," Loki said, smiling. It wasn't like Stark wouldn't end up killing himself anyway.

* * *

Stark was asleep when Loki walked in. He was shaking in his mattress, twitching, murmuring something about bugs. He was naked, at least from the waist up, and the sheets around him were mussed and wet with perspiration.

A pair of cables sprouted from darkened but otherwise unmarked skin. Just the two black likes, coming out of his sternum like weeds, connecting him to his lifeline, the battery which sat on the floor next to Stark's mattress still covered in road-dust.

A petite woman of Italian descent, Castiglione, was there, kneeling on the floor by Stark's bedside and injecting water up Stark's nasogastric tube, as they didn't have IVs to spare on vermin like him. She looked up upon hearing Loki's footsteps. "Oh, you," she said, sounding neither pleased nor displeased.

Loki waved, unfazed by her indifference.

She looked back down, not saying anything. She was pretty cold — had to be, considering her power over life and death — and he was used to it.

He dropped onto the floor next to her, sitting Indian-style, looking down at Stark's troubled sleeping face. The only thing he could see was the image of a small, sick child — eyes white with scars, skin pale from lack of sunlight, his breathing labored with pneumonia in his weakened lungs — superimposed over the equally sick adult.

It had been sixteen years since Loki had last seen Stark, but suddenly all he could think of was all the strife that, in his madness, he had caused that sweet, witty child.

"It'll be time for his meal in a few hours," Castiglione said dispassionately.

It appeared to be a non-sequitur, but Loki knew better. "I'll do it. That, too," he added, gesturing at the fat syringe she was using to force water into the unconscious man.

Castiglione handed it over at once, getting to her feet. She didn't leave immediately. "Perhaps it will be better not to feed him. The seizures should be starting soon, if he follows the schedule."

Loki blinked, having no idea how to answer that. Seizures?! "Um," he managed, looking nervously up at her.

"When they do, roll him onto his side," she said, not sounding bossy or reassuring, but matter-of-fact. "Don't touch him unless he isn't breathing. Don't put anything in his mouth."

Well, that didn't sound daunting at all. "Should I call for you?" Loki asked, trying not to show his trepidation.

"Only if they last more than three minutes." That said, she walked off, apparently considering the conversation over. She walked neither fast nor slow, like she had somewhere to be but didn't care how long it took her. Like she knew she would arrive at just the right moment.

Castiglione could be damn near prescient at times, when it came to being where she would be needed. Like she could sense the life-force of every living thing in the building and how close they were to death.

Loki shivered. He never understood how Thanos could be so enamored with her. He never felt at ease in her presence.

"The spi'ers," a voice slurred, "take—take 'em off me."

Stark had woken.

Loki looked down at him. "There are no spiders," he said, thinking Stark must be really stupid.

His eyes were unfocused, wild, roaming all over the infirmary. "'Sh'dn't be here," he murmured. "I'm drunk?"

"Oh, you wish," Loki snorted, pumping water into him.

Stark, apparently discovering he was there, turned to face him, though his eyes couldn't stay on Loki's face. "Loki," he muttered, before a shiver shook him. His eyes closed. "You come t' save me fr'm the spi'ers. Kill 'em. Kill the spi'ers."

Loki grinned. "There are no spiders, Stark," he repeated, thinking how pathetic it was that Stark trusted Loki to save him from anything.

The sick man shook his head. "I c'n feel 'em," he insisted, "all o'er me." He slapped his stomach clumsily, and then he shoved his hand in Loki's face. "See?"

Arching an eyebrow, Loki took his hand and put it down by the delirious man's side. "No, I don't."

That seemed to distress Stark. "They are bitin' me," he cried, thrashing, "bitin' me with their poison, all o'ver me!" He began slapping at his chest with both hands, hard, clawing at his skin. One of his hands brushed against the cables, and it startled him.

'_Oh, no_,' thought Loki.

Stark raised his head, opening his eyes to look. They widened when they spotted the black puckered scar with the black lines pouring out from the center. "Th' spi'ers, they are comin' fr'm me!" he wailed, and began pulling on the wires.

Alvarado's words about not using magic for two days at least ran through Loki's mind as he cheerfully ignored them, laying Stark flat down with a thought and gesture of his left hand. The sudden burst of power through his overtaxed pathways left them burning, but it was worth it.

Stark was breathing hard, eyes tightly shut. "No magic, no magic," he murmured, almost to himself.

Should have let him rip the cables out, to spare himself the sniveling at least. "Yes, magic," Loki snarled. "Those are not spiders, they connect you a battery."

Stark opened his eyes. "Batt'ry," he repeated dully, tracing the cables up to the source with strangely focused eyes. "A batt'ry. I'm a robot," he said sadly, "a m'chine with a batt'ry and no feelings." He started crying, water leaking from the corners of his eyes.

He was pathetic. Loki sneered at him.

Stark seemed to calm himself after that and lost consciousness again. Or perhaps he cried himself to sleep.

Loki sighed.

* * *

The seizures began the next day. They hit at odd times, never following any pattern.

Loki was glad he hadn't given Stark anything to eat that day, because that way he didn't have to clean up vomit along with the shit and the urine. Small favors.

The next days were spent reassuring Stark that no, nobody was going to kill him and that he wasn't going to die, along with rolling him onto his side every time he got another seizure, changing the wet cloth on his forehead so the fever didn't cook what was left of his brains, and waking him from the terrible nightmares that left him screaming himself hoarse.

Loki got a new recruit to bring him a mattress so he'd have a place to sit that wasn't the cold stone of the floor.

Delirium tremens was a bitch, especially for the one taking reluctant care of the detoxing person.

Loki slept about as much as Stark did. He checked on him, on his blood pressure and his pulse, on his temperature. He made sure to feed Stark water after his seizures, and emptied the urine bottle into the bucket by his side, which he emptied once a day.

When the seizures got milder, about five days after they started, he began feeding Stark through his nose, as he was thin and had lost a lot of muscle. First twice a day, then three times, then four. Of course, this meant Stark was shitting again, so it also meant helping him to the bedpan (when he was awake) or changing his nappies (when he wasn't).

He would have liked the assistance of a nurse, or anyone, really, to do this, but the camp's philosophy was that Loki had brought this upon himself and thus he should endure it with grace. And by 'with grace', they meant alone.

Still, Loki reflected, it was better this way. No one who took care of the sick man and saw him at his worst would ever take him seriously again — Loki certainly didn't — and MAGI needed to take Stark seriously. It was vital to his plan that Stark saw how much they feared and hated him; the whole point would be moot if he came across someone who laughed at him because he had shat himself in his sleep.

Day ten after they arrived on the camp found Loki waiting by Stark's bedside, his back to the wall, sketching a new sigil to install in Stark's chest to match the smaller, contained nature of the curse. It was just a thought exercise, he wasn't planning on actually doing it, but he was bored and doodling distracted him.

Suddenly, there was a loud clang.

Loki looked up, only to see Stark attempting to stand. The clang had come from when he accidentally had kicked over the tin pee bucket — luckily, Loki had emptied it not an hour before and it was still empty.

Stark looked extremely disoriented. And he had no nasogastric tube.

Loki checked and sure enough, it was on the sheets, staining everything with stomach acid and half-digested slush. Of course Stark had pulled it out.

Stark was currently tugging at the cables sprouting from his chest.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Loki told him.

The man startled badly, scrambling to look at Loki, wide-eyed. "What the hell did you do to me?" he demanded in a fierce whisper.

"What I did?" Loki laughed, putting down the paper and pencil and getting up. "What I did is to save your life. You got hit with a Flesh-Eating curse." He crossed the distance to Stark easily and pushed him back down onto the bed.

Stark went easily, too woozy to try to fight back.

Loki climbed on after him, sitting next to him on the infirmary mattress. "Do you even know what that is? I invented it," he grinned. "You can probably guess what it does, but allow me to say it anyway. This curse dissolves the flesh into free magic. It takes around a day, depending on the strength of the victim and the curse, for the corruption to spread to the vital organs. They shut down one," he tapped at the spot above Stark's small intestine, "by," the liver, "one," and the heart.

Stark looked like he was either about to vomit or shit his pants again, but his eyes were still fierce, burning with hatred and the promise of revenge.

Loki laid off the dark-and-menacing routine but didn't move from Stark's lap. "We removed all the affected tissue we could," he continued in a much more casual voice, "but there is some left. In your heart, in the exterior wall of the right ventricle. Left unchecked, it would spread again."

Eyes widening, Stark managed to find the strength to ask, "How long?"

How long did he have? How long had he been slipping in and out of consciousness? '_He really should be more specific_,' Loki thought. "Don't worry, I am keeping it contained." He tapped the dark, ugly spot on Stark's chest from where the cables protruded.

"What is this?" Stark asked, not looking one bit less uncomfortable.

"Spiders, apparently," Loki teased cruelly, knowing Stark wouldn't get it.

Stark looked unamused.

"Really. I have it on good authority it feels like spiders bursting out of your chest. At least that is what withdrawal-you said," Loki mocked, a hard edge in his voice.

The man winced and he deflated a bit, looking away. Didn't last, he turned his eyes on Loki a moment later. "So... What is it? What does the battery power?"

"A sigil," Loki answered matter-of-factly, "that keeps the curse contained to just that small portion of your heart. Inelegant, I know," he shrugged, "but it was the material I had on hand. I am working on something slightly more portable."

Stark laughed, though it sounded bitter and grinned. His grin looked at lot like Loki's. Sharp, like knives. Predatory. A shark's hunting grin.

Seeing that Stark wasn't about to start pulling out important things again, Loki smiled back. "That's right. Smile. We met once, you know?"

There was a flash of recognition in Stark's eyes.

"That's right, I think you do. You recognized me, back there on the field. And while you were hallucinating."

Stark chuckled darkly. "You are pretty hard to forget, Loki. Both my personal boogeyman and guardian angel." He scoffed, looking away. "If I hadn't had the medical records," he added in a quieter voice, " I'd have though I hallucinated the whole thing. That whole year." He shook his head.

Loki arched an eyebrow. "I left you the tube of your mother's lipstick."

Stark remained quiet, giving Loki a long look full of questions he never voiced. Then he looked down at himself and noticed he was wearing absolutely nothing. "I know I have a great bod, but this is ridiculous. At least buy me dinner first, Romeo."

Half-tempted to rub in Stark's face that Loki had been feeding him dinner for the last three days, as well as wiping his ass, Loki chuckled and reached for the clothes he had readied for Stark, handing them over.

"Really? That's it?" Stark wondered, affecting great disappointment and sat up, much more carefully this time.

Loki looked at him sideways and walked towards the door. "Come on, let us give you a bath. Your current smell is reminiscent of unwashed goats." He turned to smirk at his guest over his shoulder. "Besides, we should leave this bed for someone who needs it." He waited outside.

Through the door, he could hear Stark cursing as he got dressed, clothes rustling as he figured out how to dress himself with the cables in the way.

When Stark finally deigned to reach the door, he poked his head out and looked to both sides before coming out and joining Loki, the battery hugged to his chest. "Sooo. Anything to eat around here?" he asked.

Loki nodded. "Yes. Would you like to wash up first? Unless you wish for everyone to think you an uncouth dog, of course. The canteen is rather full at this time of the day." He looked at him with a quirked eyebrow.

Stark seemed to actually consider it. After a few seconds, he turned to Loki again, getting entirely too close. "Say, are the lady unnies here any pretty?" he asked in a stage whisper.

Loki pulled away, disgusted by both the smell of his breath and the question itself. "They are," he replied, trying not to look at Stark too dismissively. "However, no matter your state of hygiene, they would shun you merely because of your vernacular."

Stark blinked. "What, unnie?" he asked, sounding honestly surprised.

"Would you call a black man 'nigger'," Loki retorted, eerily calm, "and still expect to be respected?"

That made Stark stop. One could see the numbers running through his mind as he processed that.

Loki waited patiently. They had all day.

"Huh. I never realized it was that offensive," Stark said at last, looking at Loki with new eyes. "So? What's the correct term?" He hitched the battery up a little, holding it closer.

"Magic user," Loki replied easily. "We have a lot of denominations but they all mean different things. Bath, then?"

"Yeah, sure," Stark shrugged.

They began walking down the corridor, Loki a few steps ahead of Stark, leading him.

After a while of silence, Stark walked closer to Loki and asked, "So. What are the denominations?"

Loki smirked. Even as a child Stark had been like a dog with a bone; he hadn't grown out of it as an adult. The contrary, in fact. "Witch, sorcerer, wizard, warlock, those are the main ones. There are others, as well, depending on the nationality of the magic they practice." He did not say anything else. If Stark wanted information, he ought to ask.

Stark nodded, apparently unfazed by Loki's shortness. "Right. I know warlock. Those of you who used to work for the government and escaped. Oath-breakers, right?"

Loki regarded him coolly. "Is it what _you_ call us. We never take any oath — it is forced upon us." Like collars on dogs. Or tags on cattle. In the scheme of things, they ranked barely above animals.

"Oh, I thought I was kinda like a Terms and Conditions thing, where you just tick the box to get on with the installation," Stark continued, either not noticing how poorly Loki thought of the subject or not giving a fuck.

Loki hummed. "It's a good analogy. Except for the part where instead of a program you get a virus, and you are forced to click 'accept' at gunpoint." He smiled thinly at Stark. It didn't reach his eyes.

That sobered the zero up. "Right, right, right. Of course." He nodded sagely. "So, uh, I also know witch. What about sorcerer and wizard? 'Sup with those?"

They had arrived at the bathhouse. Stark, of course, couldn't get a shower because water and electricity didn't mix, so Loki led him to an actual bath. One of the tubs had used water, still warm. The rest were empty.

Loki gestured at it. "Hop in."

Stark peered into the tub, and then turned to Loki. "Uh, I don't know if you've noticed but that's used. As in, someone else's dead skin cells and sweat and possibly other bodily fluids I don't want to think about are in there."

The warlock regarded him with faint amusement. "I have noticed, yes. The air around you is also full of carbon dioxide that was excreted by someone else's cells, transported around their bodies in their bloodstream, collected in their lungs and then expelled, yet you have no problem breathing used air." He made a dramatic pause, before asking, "Your point?"

That seemed to stump Stark. He gave Loki a good long look before letting out a full belly laughter. "Oh God, that is the best thing I've heard since—possibly ever. I'm gonna remember that one." He shook his head, still laughing. It had an edge of hysteria in it.

"Well?" Loki gestured to the tub. "Are you getting in or not? I assure you, even dirty as the water may be," it was only slightly cloudy, meaning just soap and perhaps some sweat and soap, which was why someone had actually left it there to be re-used, "the result would be an enormous improvement upon your current state."

"Are you always so long-winded?" Stark asked, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. "Never mind. Fine, I'm getting in. Are you gonna hold the battery, Merlin?"

"What is the magic word?" Loki teased.

Stark rolled his eyes. "I dunno, abracadabra? How should I know what spells you use?"

Loki gave him a stern look.

Stark rolled his eyes again. It reminded Loki that he wasn't that far from being a teenager. "Fine, fine_. _Please, will you hold the battery and the cables above the waterline so that I don't die of electrocution and waste your amazing masterpiece of sigil-making, _please_." He managed to deadpan the whole sentence.

"Sygaldry," Loki corrected automatically. "I shall, since you ask so nicely." He stepped closer to take the huge and heavy box. "Will you be needing help undressing as well?" he asked, pitching his voice to be extremely condescending.

"Kinky," Stark observed, shooting Loki with finger guns, "but I must insist on that dinner. I'm not actually as easy as the tabloids make me look." He began undressing with complete nonchalance.

'_Clearly he is that easy_,' thought Loki, '_or else he might be at least somewhat body-shy_.' Not that Stark actually had anything to be shy about, Loki observed, even after having gone through detox cold turkey. That fact and the easy banter that had developed between them gave Loki an idea. That could, perhaps, be another angle to work.

Either that, or the man had worked out that Loki had already seen him not only in his birthday suit, but also covered in crap, and had cleaned him up and taken care of him like a baby.

There was a splash.

Loki looked up to see Stark getting into the tub, his clothes a mess on the bathroom floor. The water came up to his solar plexus, well below the entry point of the cables.

"Oh, crap, forgot soap and shampoo," Stark complained. "You gonna lend me some or what?"

With a wave of Loki's hand, a bar of value soap and a bottle of equally cheap and low-quality shampoo soared into Stark's hands. "There you go. Anything else?" he asked, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Yeah," Stark said, looking at the cheap amenities. "Do you have anything better?"

The man probably thought it would be sacrilege to wash his privileged ass with that. Loki took delight in answering, "No."

Stark actually pouted. "I haven't used anything but organic glycerin soap and designer shampoo since I was allowed to choose my own toiletries," he sighed.

Loki hoped Stark was playing it up for humor. '_Do you use imported bottled spring water to rinse, I wonder?_' he thought, taking a sick pleasure in seeing such a high-born man brought so low, bathing as the commoners did.

Taking a deep breath, Stark began working up a lather with the soap and rubbing it furiously all over himself. "Well, at least it doesn't smell like flowers," he murmured, scrubbing hard under his arms. "Say, could you make the water a little hotter?"

"I could," Loki replied truthfully, smirking.

A moment passed, and then Stark rolled his eyes and looked up at Loki. "Seriously?" he asked, exasperation heavy in his voice. "Okay. _Please_ make the water hotter."

Loki smirked. He thought briefly about making it scalding hot but decided the puny zero had had enough torture in the last few days to last him a lifetime and made it pleasantly warm instead.

Stark had the gall to look surprised. "Oh, hey, thanks for not boiling me alive," he grinned.

Biting back a smile, Loki replied, "I am a merciful god. You shall not be so lucky next time you phrase a request so loosely."

Shaking his head, Stark returned to his washing, and Loki looked away out of politeness. After a few minutes, while he was shampooing his hair (he struck out there, the shampoo smelled like cheap artificial apple), he said, "You know, you never did finish telling me about witches and wizards and magical things."

Oh, right. "Wizard is a rank," Loki explained, planting his foot clad in tactic footwear on the rim of the tub and resting the battery upon his thigh. "As the root implies, it means wise one. It is akin to the title of doctor, and you earn it by much the same means. Studying a lot, making a thesis and delivering it in front of a jury of your peers."

Stark nodded along. "Right, makes sense. So, do you have one of these PhDs in psionics?" He began cupping water onto his hair, trying to rinse it, quite ineffectively at that.

"I do, yes," Loki replied, waving a hand.

A swell of water climbed up Stark's back and settled on his head like a great blob of ooze, swirling around and rinsing Stark's hair.

The man sat perfectly still. Too still. Like he was trying hard not to shudder and squeak like a frightened rabbit. Then the blob slithered down his back again, and he did shudder. "Uh, careful, you could drown someone with that spell."

"It is not known as Drown In A Glass Of Water for nothing," Loki lied, grinning. Stark's mind sure lived in devious places. "The name is much more poetic in the original Chinese."

Stark regarded him suspiciously, as if not quite sure he believed Loki. "Right. I'll keep that in mind. So, sorcerers. Explain!" He began scrubbing vigorously down between his legs.

"Sorcerers are capable of black magic. Ritual sacrifices, mind control, using magic to torture or kill, raising the dead, the works," Loki recited, completely nonplussed. "Thanos is one of those, as well as one of the mythical six, so be careful around him."

Stark blinked. "Okay," he said, stretching his back. "Why doesn't he raise an army of zombies and take the government by storm? There are plenty of dead people around." He stood in the tub, water falling off him in sheets. "Uh, towel? Magical body-drying spell?"

"I don't know. It probably hasn't occurred to him yet." Loki hoped it never did. Taking their freedom back by force wouldn't work in the long term. He dried Stark with a snap of his fingers, vaporizing the water into clouds of steam. "I will be sure to mention your suggestion, though."

Stark blanched. "Better not. I'm not sure the world is ready for a zombie apocalypse." He looked at nothing, wide-eyed before shaking his head and climbing out of the tub, using Loki's shoulder as leverage.

Loki smirked. "I can't promise you anything."

* * *

The dinner Loki had promised turned out to be little more than mash and sausages of the cheap kind, with some watered-down Jell-O for dessert.

"This reminds me of high school," Stark muttered, bathing his sausages in ketchup to make them at least halfway palatable. "Noise, crappy-ass food... The popular table," he pointed at Thanos's table with his head, knowing who he was because Loki had singled him out.

Loki, who was close to him and had had time to get used to the man's sense of humor, chuckled into his mashed potatoes.

But someone else overheard him.

"Well, well, well," a voice drawled, "if it isn't Tony Stark. The most famous witch-hunter and slaver in the history of the continent."

Both Loki and Stark turned to see who it was, Loki's stomach already dropping with dread.

It was Izumi, one of the most bad-tempered people in the complex. She was sneering at Stark, her eyes bright with resentment.

"Oh, hey, you're tiny," Stark said, ignoring Loki's warning glare. "I love your dreadlocks, by the way."

Izumi was about to boil over in rage. "You—!"

Loki sighed.

Only Stark could manage to annoy and insult a rank four alchemist in two sentences.

Well, Loki wasn't going to help him out on this one. He kept on eating his mashed potatoes.

Stark, however, seemed oblivious to the danger. Perhaps he had felt the fury of too many scorned women to distinguish when it was actually serious. "Hey, wanna join us? I mean, I'm pretty sure this is the loser's table, since it's just Loki and me here, but, yeah."

Holding Stark's gaze the whole time, Izumi clapped her hands together once and touched one finger to the table. She then pulled it away, and withdrew a sword, sections of the table disappearing as the sword grew in length, satisfying the equivalent exchange of matter. Without saying anything at all, she held the wickedly sharp tip to Stark's throat.

Wide-eyed, Stark swallowed audibly, the movement making it so the tip dug into this skin and left a small cut. "Oh, wow, that was... That was the coolest thing I've ever seen," he managed, blinking at her.

Izumi was not amused. "A witch-hunter killed my son when he caught him making flowers into butterflies," she spat. "He says he meant to simply tase him but he forgot to dial your gun down."

Stark held her gaze. "It is not my responsibility what people do with the weapons I sell them," he answered calmly, quickly. It sounded painfully rehearsed.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "You know what your weapons are used for. You know they are used to hunt and enslave innocent people," she whispered harshly.

"Izumi, that is enough," Thanos said, appearing from behind them. "Loki, learn to control your pet better."

Loki bowed his head, acquiescing. "I shall try," he conceded.

Stark still didn't say anything. He was looking at something off to the right, or perhaps at nothing at all, and his shoulders were tense and perfectly squared.

"Are you done eating?" Thanos continued. "I thought perhaps we could film now."

That seemed to wake Stark up. "Film?" he asked.

"Your ransom video," explained Loki, getting up from the chair and piling the trays together. "You did not think we saved out of the goodness of our hearts, did you?"


	4. Chapter 3

The rest of Tony's first day among the savages both sucked and, in some aspects, was the best day ever.

After filming the video in which they demanded from 'whoever it may concern' that S.I. stopped producing unnie-killing weaponry if they wanted to see Tony again, Tony and his assigned guide, Loki, were put on the chores rota.

They didn't start right away, thankfully, so Tony started heading back to his rooms — until Loki caught him by the elbow and pushed him against a wall, leaning on it with both arms.

Leaving Tony trapped.

Tony's heart leapt to his throat, as he had long considered the abrupt movements of all magic users to be sign of impending danger, Loki first and foremost on the list. Still, terrified as he was, he swallowed it down and stood tall, staring defiantly into Loki's eyes. "What is it, Honey?"

Loki turned his head this way and that, his eyes roving over the corridor before they returned Tony's stare. "You need to be more careful, Stark," he murmured, his face slack and serious. "You are treading on thin ice. Everyone in this camp has, at some point or another, been persecuted for an accident of birth that gave them the power to control things your people think they shouldn't."

'_And?_' Tony thought, letting it show clearly on his face. What, was Loki going to appeal to Tony's humanity? Pft. Like he cared about that. It was simple Darwin, survival of the fittest. "Not my fault."

"Yes. Yes, your fault," Loki hissed, looming over Tony with his stupid height. "Because you are their enabler. You make weapons they use to track us and chain us and kill us."

Tony rolled his eyes. Same old argument people used when trying to convince him to stop making weapons for the army to use in normal, non-magical warfare. Tony made and sold the weapons, therefore that made him the murderer. Right. Because no one else in the whole world made weapons. Because people hadn't already been killing each other in droves with just sticks and stones.

"You don't get it, do you?" Loki asked, regarding Tony with pity in his eyes. Then the pity fell off like a mask, and what was left was the hard façade of uncaring smugness. "Allow me to explain further. These people have been hunted. Shot at. Enslaved. Their friends and family have been killed. All this, with things you produce. Can you not think of any reason why they might resent you?"

"Because I'm rich and ruggedly handsome, and they are neither?" Tony retorted easily, not letting Loki see how his words affected him.

Now he understood Loki's point. People were people, magical or not. They liked putting the blame on whoever was more convenient, and, hell, Tony's dad was the reason the witch-hunters had stopped using silver rosaries and began using mines. Tony had continued and augmented that tradition. He had made it very, very easy for them to chase and capture musers.

Shit.

Loki gave him a small smile and pulled back. He'd probably seen the color wash away from Tony's skin. "So, for your own sake, do try to keep a low profile, yes?"

Tony recalled that while Loki had been the one to trick an eight-year-old kid into causing an explosion that set him free, he was also the one who had risked getting caught to sneak in and heal the damage. Maybe there was some integrity to the warlock, after all.

There was also the fact that Loki had saved his life and practically held his hand through impromptu detox. Yeah, Tony still wasn't over the sheer humiliation. He had no idea why Loki wasn't lording it over him, but he was incredibly thankful for their tacit agreement not to mention it.

So Tony nodded. Didn't add anything, though; it would be too much like admitting Loki was right and he was wrong.

Loki returned the nod with something like approval (or possibly smugness, Tony couldn't really tell) in his eyes. "I have to do my rounds," he said afterwards.

"Okay," Tony answered slowly. "I'll... Be in my room. If I can find it. If I have one." He turned to the right, pretty sure it was the route he needed to take back to the infirmary.

Loki caught him by the elbow. "Not so fast, Stark." He seemed amused.

Tony resisted the urge to roll his eyes but couldn't keep in the exasperated exhale. "What now?"

"You are going the wrong way," was the explanation.

Yep. Definitely amused. At Tony's expense, no less.

"Sorry, I forgot to bring my GPS when you kidnapped me," he snapped, crossing his arms.

Loki's face didn't change. "You won't be needing any. Because that brings me to my second point." His smile was like a knife; a grin of psychopathic glee. "You are not allowed alone. You will be tagging along with me."

Tony thought he looked like a serial killer about to start on his new victim. "But, Baby, I want a nap," he pouted. He was tired like hell and also did not want to be Loki's shadow. "I need my beauty sleep."

Scoffing, Loki muttered, "You have a lot of that to catch up on," and began walking, not even bothering to wait for Tony. "Come on, then, you may sleep while I work."

Tony didn't follow. Hell, he wasn't a puppy; Loki didn't carry his leash.

Without turning, pausing, or even giving any indication that he had noticed, Loki raised a hand so Tony could see it poking up over his shoulder and gestured forward with two fingers.

_Something _pushed into Tony, unbalancing him and making it so that he had to step forward to avoid falling or dropping the battery. Well, that might be an understatement. It was no little nudge; it felt like eleven quarterbacks had combined into one and tackled him. Not so much a push as it was an inexorable force.

Tony's eyes flew to Loki's retreating back.

He understood, with sudden clarity, that he had somehow landed in no-man's-land. They were all monsters here, capable of making him walk against his will, of keeping him alive when he should be dead, of turning tables into swords and then making the swords impale him, all with a wink or a clap of their hands.

Exhaling shakily, Tony followed Loki of his own will, trying to smooth out the goosebumps that had broken out on his skin and shake the feeling that he was way, way out of his depth.

* * *

It turned out that Loki had a lab, where he made things. With magic. And runes. Like the thing in Tony's chest.

He also had interns. Or apprentices. Tony wasn't sure what the word was in the world of magic. They stared at Tony when he and Loki walked in, dressed in fluffy bathrobes of every color imaginable.

"Nothing to look at," Loki groused, fixing them with impressively stern glares. "Back to work."

Everyone turned back to their... experiments, but snuck a glance or two at Tony now and then.

Loki went to the only empty workbench and pulled off his coat, draping it over a nearby stool.

There was another fluffy robe next to him. It had been black at some point; now it was a washed-out dark grey and it had stains, as if stuff had been spilled onto it.

"Er, what about me?" Tony asked awkwardly, hefting the battery higher on his hips, wondering what the hell was up with the robes. What was wrong with lab coats?

Loki gestured to the side, not turning or even looking at Tony as he slid the ugly thing on and tied it securely.

Tony's eyes followed Loki's pointing finger and found a ratty old couch, springs poking up from the cushions. Then they went back to Loki. "You are joking, right?"

"Sit," Loki ordered. "Stay still. Don't bother anyone." He fiddled with something on his table and picked up a hammer and a chisel.

Feeling like we was three years old again, Tony sat, setting the battery on his lap.

The quiet and stillness lasted about ten minutes, and then only because he really made an effort of trying to sleep. However, the couch was too uncomfortable, the place was too cold (_now_ he understood the robes) and the sounds of tinkering called to him like a siren's song, so he picked up his battery and stood up, glancing at Loki as surreptitiously as he could manage.

The warlock was hunched over his table, tapping the chisel delicately with the hammer. He seemed to be too absorbed to have noticed Tony.

Tony grinned, feeling a bit like a pre-teen skipping school and walked over to the friendliest-looking intern, a tiny slip of a girl with white-blond hair up in pigtails and a pink tartan robe chiseling something onto a huge wooden block. She looked harmless enough, even armed with a chisel. "Pst," he whispered when he got close enough.

"I'm not allowed to talk to you," she said coolly, also in a whisper, not even turning her head.

"Okay, then don't talk," he replied quietly, putting the battery down almost gently on the table and leaning on it to watch her work.

She tensed and her movements became jerky. "You are not allowed to bother us," she persisted, sneaking a sideways look at him before returning to her work.

"Ah-ah!" Tony exclaimed in a stage whisper, shaking one finger at her. "You talked." He grinned.

She ignored him, taking a deep breath, and continued carving something on the side of the wooden block — no, wait, not a block, a box. There were hinges.

"Sooo, what are you making?" Tony asked, examining the carving more closely.

It looked like a lot of geometric shapes thrown together into some circles, with some squiggles in empty spots. It was actually rather pretty, a bit symmetrical if one found the axis. Last time he'd seen one of those, it had exploded in his face. But this one looked different. He reached out to touch one of the finished sections.

The girl slapped his hand away. _With the hammer_.

"Ffffff—" Tony hissed, immediately biting his tongue before the rest of the curse could come out. "Why would you do that?" he asked, looking at her with betrayal. Women slapped and scratched and talked bad things about you when your back was turned, they didn't hit people with hammers!

For all answer, the girl—the harmless-looking _harpy_ shrugged and returned to work.

Tony gave her the evil eye and, grabbing his battery, returned to the couch, plopping down on it with a huff. He heard a snigger and looked up.

Loki's shoulders were shaking.

"What?" Tony asked, annoyed. He shifted his weight to his other cheek, a loose spring was poking him in the ass. "What do you find so amusing?"

The asshole turned his head to peer at Tony over his shoulder. He was smirking.

Tony wanted to wipe the mocking smirk off his face with his fist.

"I did warn you not to approach my apprentices, did I not?" Loki drawled.

Tony sniffed. "You said not to bother them." He crossed his arms. "You should have said they _bite_. Should have put up a sign." He put his hands in front of him and spread them in an arch, miming a neon sign. "'Approach the interns at your own peril,' or something. 'Attempts at conversation will be met with unnecessary violence,' perhaps."

Loki chuckled heartily at that, his eyes dancing in amusement and he turned around to face Tony fully. "Perhaps I might. But you were the one who approached the most fierce one as though she were a puppy."

There were a few snorts around the room, followed by the shuffling of people pretending they hadn't just laughed. The 'most fierce one' in question blushed deeply and bowed her head, not looking at anyone, even the guy twice as tall as her and looking like a lumberjack who patted her head comfortingly.

Tony glared at them, lips pressed together. God, he felt like such an outsider here!

Something tapped his shoulder.

He turned his head to look.

It was a book. A beat-up one at that. It was floating, tapping his shoulder like an annoying classmate.

Was there anything more unnatural than floating books? Staring warily at it in case it tried to bite him, Tony grabbed it. He read the cover. "Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring?" he asked dubiously. "What is this, a gay man's guide to accessorizing?" He scoffed, putting the book down on the free seat. "Sorry, pal, don't lean that way."

Loki rolled his eyes. "It's a novel, you bumbling fool. A rather famous one."

"Never heard of it," Tony shrugged.

"You wouldn't have," Loki said, turning back around and hunching over his work. "It was banned in every country with compulsory registration."

A banned book, huh? Tony considered it again. "Why?"

"Because it's author had the _radical _idea of portraying magic in a good light." Loki's tone indicated he would say nothing else on that subject or on any other.

Tony didn't want to read it now that he knew was just pro-magic propaganda.

After three minutes, bored to tears, he resigned himself, grabbed the book and began reading.

* * *

Three hours and a half later, give or take, found Tony exhaling shakily with cold as the Company exited Moria, Gandalf having fallen to his doom with the Balrog only moments before.

Shit. Now he got why the book had been banned. Making you like a wizard, making him noble and wise, and then letting him sacrifice himself for the normals; making you wish there was a spell, something, that would let him come back alive.

Look at him. Tony Stark, praying magic would save the day once more. He rubbed a hand over his face, massaging his tired eyes. Not watering. Definitely not watering.

Suddenly there was a hand on his shoulder and he looked up to see Loki. "Please tell me Gandalf survives," he blurted out before Loki could say anything.

Loki raised both eyebrows, managing to look disdainful rather than surprised. "Tony Stark, rooting for the _unnie witcher?_ What a surprising turn of events," he commented mockingly.

Tony growled, slapping Loki's hand away from his shoulder. "You asshole. You knew perfectly well what you were doing when you gave me that book."

Loki averted his eyes but there was a tiny smile on his face. "I can neither confirm nor deny that," he answered.

That was a 'yep, you sucker' if Tony had ever heard one. "Fine. Did you want anything or did you just interrupt my worldview crumbling down because you wanted to see my face as it happened?"

"My work is over," Loki explained, moving back to allow Tony room to stand. He wasn't wearing the robe anymore; he had exchanged it back for his long coat. "I will take you to yours. You are charted to assist in meal preparation, correct?"

Tony regarded him with wide eyes. "Erm. If you want everyone in your camp to die of food poisoning, sure." He stood up gingerly, resting the book on the battery.

"Are you planning to poison us?" Loki asked, grabbing the book and magicking it back into the bookshelf.

"What? No! I just can't cook," Tony hurried to say. He stared at where the book had gone. "Um. I was kinda reading that?"

"You may continue reading tomorrow, when we come here again," Loki said coolly, turning sharply and making his long coat billow. "Come then, to the kitchens." He began walking.

Tony followed him, his eyes still fixed on the bookcase. He almost tripped over the box that The Fierce One had been working on. "So, uh, was is this thing anyway? Some sort of heavily warded trunk to kill off all intruders?" He ran his fingers over the drawings.

"A refrigerator, actually," Loki replied, sounding very close.

Tony turned and found Loki standing right behind him. "Um," he said, not knowing how to ask Loki to back his _rapeface_ the fuck off. Gah, how did he get Loki out of his space bubble?

"Although your idea has merit," Loki continued. "See here." He pointed at one of the drawings. "It is not finished yet, but it will have a matching symbol on the inside of the box." He moved away.

Tony thanked all the gods he didn't believe in. "What does it do? It doesn't look similar to the one you had me draw." It was still fresh in his mind. He had experimented on it, a few years back, in complete secret. The explosion only happened when it was drawn exactly as Loki had told him, no alterations worked.

"Of course it doesn't," Loki scoffed, looking at Tony as though he had just said wheels weren't square. "That was an entropy-to-heat sigil, these are purely kinetic-transfer. It's completely different." He opened the box and gestured inside.

Tony peeked obligingly. The air inside was cool but it had nothing on actual fridges. There was one pair magic circles scorched into the inside and outside on the opposite panel. The girl had been working on another pair. "So, each pair of magic circles—"

"Sigils," Loki interrupted.

"—sigils, whatever." Tony waved the semantics away. "Each pair, what, siphons temperature from the inside to the outside? Like, how? Does it take the kinetic energy from air molecules inside and put it into air molecules outside?"

Loki smiled, looking pleasantly surprised. "Indeed. The velocity of every molecule that hits the inside sigil is allocated to one that bounces off the one on the outside."

Tony was speechless. He hadn't known magic could be worked on such a microscopic scale. He crossed his arms and stared at the magic box, tapping his mouth. "That's fantastic," he admitted, impressed. "You can also do freezers. And ovens, if you exchange the sigils. Without using fuel or electricity." He was dazzled. Very much so.

So, sigils were like computer programs, only instead of zeros and ones, they dealt with energy. Once these devices were created, they needed no magic to run, much like how once a program or app was coded it needed no further coding to be used.

They could be used by normals.

The possibilities were mind-blowing. Also, illegal. Very, very illegal.

He blinked and shook his head, clearing it, and looked at Loki.

Loki, who was giving him a strange look.

Tony snapped his fingers. "So! Kitchen duty!" he exclaimed happily and grabbed his battery. "Let's go!" '_Don't talk about it, don't talk about how I just almost suggested making those and selling them to zeroes._'

Loki hummed, giving Tony a knowing glance and a jaunty little smile. "Very well. I hope you can peel tomatoes, we are having pizza tonight."

Tony smiled at him with clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. "Great. Love pizza," he gritted out.

* * *

It turned out that, no, Tony couldn't peel tomatoes. So they tasked him with kneading the dough.

He'd never admit it, but it was actually quite nice. The squishiness between his fingers, the crisp smell, the rhythm of the rolling motions, all made the experience very Zen.

Although he couldn't help but burn in shame and envy every time he saw Loki, scheduled with him for the sake of convenience, peel a tomato with a flick of a hand. He wanted to believe Loki was using magic, but deep down he knew it wasn't true. Loki was just that good with his fingers.

Tony paused.

Riiiight. Changing subject now.

"Hey, uh, so, I was thinking..." he began, talking to Loki who was only a pace or two away, resuming the kneading.

The muser peeled another overripe tomato. "Did you strain yourself?" he asked, tossing it in the pot with the others. "Do you need me to take you to the healers?"

"Har, har," Tony deadpanned, pausing in his kneading, this time on purpose, to add a bit of flour to the table, as the dough was sticking. Look at him; soon he could open his own pizzeria. "Maybe you should. Lugging the battery around is a pain in the neck, literally."

Having finished with the tomatoes, Loki pushed away the pot to be taken by the people who were actually cooking the sauce. "Apologies for not finding an energy source more convenient to your Highness," he snarked, grabbing his own section of the rough dough and starting to knead as well.

"Apology accepted." Tony rolled his eyes. "Look, I'm not dissing the battery. I actually think it was quite clever," he lied. Personally, he would have hooked it to a cell phone battery. A lot easier to carry, even if it would have to be recharged more often.

"So? What is the problem then?" Loki asked in his best no-fucks-to-give voice. "You stopped, by the way."

Indeed he had. Tony resumed kneading. It was surprisingly harder work than the legion of people to his right made it look like. "As I was saying, before you so rudely interrupted me, I was thinking that if we have to stick together..." Gah, he didn't want to say it.

Loki folded the dough and started over. "Yes...?" he prompted, sounding amused.

Tony sighed. "I was wondering about the sleeping arrangements. Do I get a room? Do we share? I haven't had a roommate in ages." He paused and gave Loki a look from head to toe. "Or is that bedmate? No offense, but if we're gonna share a bed, I'm really going to have to insist you buy me at least a drink." And he really wanted that drink.

Snickers from anybody within earshot. Oops.

Loki was very much unamused, if the stony expression on his face was anything to go by. "So what if we are?" he asked, how voice very near monotone.

'_Thin ice_,' Tony remembered. Right. "Uhm... Well, beds here are tiny," he commented in a much lower voice, returning to kneading the dough. Nothing to see, move along. "Not that I'm averse to a little body warmth," he hurried to clarify, lying through his teeth, "but, with the battery and all..." he trailed off meaningfully and snuck a glance at Loki.

Loki had frozen. Simply stopped moving, breathing, blinking. Even more tellingly, he had stopped kneading the dough.

"Oh, shit, I think I broke Loki," Tony murmured, prompting generalized snickers.

Laughs were good. Laughs were awesome.

He brought a hand to his mouth and imitated the sound of a hand radio. "Kghh! Earth to Loki! Earth to Loki! Kghh! Do you copy?"

The warlock seemed to startle and come back to reality, taking notice of the muffled giggles and suppressed smirks before turning to Tony. "You can sleep on the floor," he said, regarding Tony coldly.

Fuck. That was really going to mess up Tony's spine. And all his muscles. And his joints. And just after going through withdrawal, when he already felt liked stepped-on crap. Ultra fuck. "Awesome, I love sleeping on the floor like a mangy dog," he bit out, sarcasm dripping from his every word. Then a thought struck him. "Say, Loki, will I have a mattress at least?"

Loki regarded him dubiously, as if not sure Tony had really just asked that. "Of course you will." His 'duh' tone was perfect. "And a pillow, and blankets, and new clothes." He grabbed a rolling pin and began flattening the dough. "It's not like we are some uncouth terrorists keeping you locked up in a cave."

Oh. Well. In that case...

Tony was the tiniest bit ashamed. He had assumed things and jumped to conclusions he shouldn't have. Maybe he had absorbed too much anti-magic propaganda. "Good to know," he conceded, the closest to an apology he was going to get.

Then Loki continued, "Granted, I cannot guarantee it will not be the same mattress you soiled in the infirmary, but it will at least be serviceable." He grabbed the dough in one hand and tossed it into the air, making it spin so it would flatten out.

A boy and a girl, siblings by the look of it, both pale under their dark skin and missing a foot and an arm respectively, approached Loki. They tugged on his trousers. "Can we try? Can we try?" they asked over and over.

"Nina, Terry, hello," Loki greeted, patting them on the hair and leaving handprints in flour and bits of dough. They were really noticeable on their almost black hair. "Mine is already done, thanks for offering. I think Tony there," he pointed at his neighbor, "might need some help."

The kids reacted as if Loki had flipped a switch. They just turned off. They hunched in on themselves, their beaming smiles sliding off their drawn little faces like water on a duck's back. The boy even went as far as to hide behind Loki's legs.

Oh, hey, that was unfair. Tony was a stranger but he wasn't going to bite.

The girl, apparently the one with the extroversion genes, sort of, looked up at Loki, hand still fisted in his shirt, and said, with all the innocence of a seven-year-old missing some teeth, "But, Master Loki, Mom said not to talk to him. He is the bad man that made the bomb that killed Daddy and hurt us."

Tony's breath hitched. His eyes widened, focused again on the bloody bandages that covered the stump of her arm. Then they clenched shut, like his fists, and he struggled not to let it affect him so much. But no, he owed them this. He forced his eyes open and looked at the bandaged stump of the little boy barely taller than the top of Tony's thigh. He must have been around five.

Goddamn it. He could picture it.

A mother and a father, both numbers, both State Arcanists, attempt to escape, wanting to protect their children from that life. They manage to jump over the electrified fence with the barbed wire but land on an AP mine — the old model, the one that exploded with Cold Iron shrapnel. The father is killed instantly. The boy, piggybacking, loses a foot instantly. The girl is caught in the blast, in the spray of molten shrapnel, and they have to amputate her whole forearm.

He shuddered and turned his eyes away.

It wasn't like he hadn't known already that his weapons killed a few unnie children here and there. But this... this was the first time the penny dropped.

_People were suffering._

Face burning, heart pounding, Tony made a move for the battery, intending to grab it and getting the hell out of there. But he couldn't reach it. It was like there was a wall between his hand and the box; impenetrable, unyielding.

Magic.

He looked at Loki, feeling chastised.

Loki wasn't looking at him, he had crouched to whisper something to the children, whose eyes flicked to Tony's now and then. Loki's hand, however, was discreetly raised in the direction of the counter, perfectly straight and vertical, like a mime pretending there was an invisible wall.

'_Yep, busted_,' Tony thought, biting the inside of his cheek.

Then Loki stopped whatever he was saying, stood up and gave the kids a little push in Tony's direction.

They approached him timidly, the boy looking like he wanted to bolt, all wide eyes and hesitancy.

The girl, Tina? No, Nina, right. Nina crossed the three feet that separated her from Tony and looked up at him with huge hazel eyes, looking almost green against her chocolate skin. "E-excuse me, Sir," she stammered, turning to Loki midway through as if to check she was doing alright. "Master Loki said to ask if we could play with your dough."

Tony could have eaten her up with a spoon. He crouched, the cables of the battery tugging painfully at something in his chest, and met her eyes. "You can't play with it, since we are going to eat it," he explained sagely.

The girl was crestfallen. "Oh." She started turning away.

Loki was glaring at him. Judging him. Like he had just committed the most unpardonable sin of them all.

So little faith. "But tell you what," Tony continued, "I can't do the spinny thing Loki did. So if you and," Tommy? Timmy? No, right, Terry, "Terry can do it without getting the dough dirty, it's fine by me."

She beamed at him, there was no other word for it.

It hit him with the full force of a pearly smile combined with missing teeth, leaving him honestly a bit breathless and blinking a lot. He could have sworn she was glowing but that might just be a hallucination leftover from the lack of alcohol. He looked up at Loki to check if he'd done all right and found him with a small, indulgent smile on his face.

Their eyes met, and Loki looked at the dough still on Tony's table meaningfully.

Right. "Okay, you little critters, lemme see your hands. Are they clean?" Tony asked, holding his hands out.

Nina pouted and offered Tony her one tiny hand — God, she was so trusting! — not even bothering to try to hide it. It was covered in dirt, as expected.

Terry was showing his own hands to Loki, who shook his head disapprovingly.

"No, sorry. I have terrible news," Tony said, putting on his best you-have-one-day-left-to-live face. "You are gonna have to wash your hands." He dropped them gently.

Nina giggled and then covered her face with her hands as if surprised or ashamed she had made that noise. Then she spied Tony looking at her and gave him a guileless smile. Saying nothing, she turned and grabbed her brother, taking off running for the sinks.

Groaning, Tony stood up. He leaned over into Loki's space. "They were hit by one of the old AP mines," he said. He didn't ask, he was sure it was so. He just wanted confirmation.

"Old?" Loki mused, arching an eyebrow.

Tony shrugged, looking down. "I redesigned them. I was giving a demo on them right before you kidnapped me, actually." He gave Loki a pointed look. "The new model doesn't explode. It emits radiation that wipes your magic out, enough to stop you guys cold for a few days at least. No boom. No shrapnel. No ouchies."

"How very humane of you," Loki drawled. "I expect the Housekeepers were annoyed their slaves were maimed or killed when they attempted to escape? After all, slaves are their bread and butter." He smiled coldly and with far too many teeth.

Spot on. Tony hadn't done it out of the goodness of his heart. It hadn't been some sort of conscience-derived choice. He'd done it because he had been asked to lay off explosives by both the MCU and Housekeepers all over the country. Explosive shells put the musers in the hospital (if they didn't kill them) which meant that, instead of earning their keep, they were a drain on resources.

He chose not to answer that, settling on watching the progress of the two siblings.

They had managed to find both a sink and an adult to hoist them up so they could reach the water.

"In answer to your question," Loki said, watching Tony watch the kids, "yes. They were hit by an AP mine. Two days ago. Healer Alvarado treated them in the infirmary while you were unconscious, that's why you don't remember them."

Tony nodded, saddened. It was good to have confirmation, but, at the same time...

The stumps were bloody, which meant the shrapnel hadn't been removed correctly. It was the whole idea: the shrapnel was made of Cold Iron (TM), a special alloy that couldn't be affected by magic. It was the same thing Tony used to make the cuffs and the chains. These people, these refugees, didn't have access to real medical attention, let alone the kind specialized in removing shrapnel like they had back home, and they couldn't remove the shrapnel with magic.

Blood loss. Infection. And then the smallest pieces of shrapnel would travel up their bloodstream and end up in their lungs or livers or hearts. Sometimes it took a day, for others it took a month, depending on where the shrapnel had hit. But the death sentence was inexorable.

"They'll die within the week," Tony announced, just in case Loki didn't know.

Loki seemed lost, his eyes unfocused and still. "We see many wounds like that around here. People who have them... We call them 'the walking dead'." He smiled bitterly and blinked.

Tony didn't say anything. What could he say? '_Oops_'? '_Sorry that it doesn't kill you instantly but would you look at the Ferrari I bought selling those — it's red!_'? He sighed.

Nina and Terry saved him from having to say anything by running back and clamoring around him. "Can we do it now?" they asked, their hands held up with the palms facing Tony. "Look, look, our hands are all clean!"

Tony swallowed down the knot it in throat. "Wow, look at those clean hands!" His voice came out thin, strangled. "Those are the cleanest hands I've ever seen."

The kids giggled. Even the boy, who was shy as a rabbit and looked like he was missing a pacifier.

Loki smiled at him.

Why was everyone so damn proud of Tony for doing the decent, humane thing? Gritting his teeth, he grabbed the dough and handed it to the kids. "There you go. After you stretch it, take it over there," he pointed at where a number of warlocks or refugees were assembling the pizzas.

"Okay!" they squealed, running away to a spot less densely populated. The boy tossed the dough in the air, where it stuck, floating there because the kid willed it so, holding his hands straight up. The girl began running around her brother, her single arm held aloft, her fingers making a pinch.

The dough spun around, flattening.

The children were joined by others who watched the spectacle. They were laughing.

Tony couldn't take it. He grabbed the battery and got the hell out of there.

* * *

Tony managed to find Loki's room with minimal asking around. Which was fortunate because by the time he reached it he could barely speak.

Breathing hard, he crammed himself into the small space between the bedside table and the wall, his battery sitting cold and heavy on his lap. His heart was beating too fast, everything was hot, God, he couldn't breathe — his chest hurt.

Was the battery failing?

Oh, shit, was the curse spreading? Was he dying?

He tore his shirt open, buttons flying everywhere, and felt around for the nightstand lamp. He didn't find it — right, no electricity. His hand smacked into something in his clumsiness, though; a glass sphere or some sort which lit up. He grabbed it, bringing it in front of himself, and looked down.

The scar was a nasty thing, even forgetting the black cables sprouting out from the middle of it. The tissue was black, wrinkled, with a leathery texture. Had it always been that way? Black? Puckered?

Tony realized his face was wet. Sweat, he decided. But no, it was coming from his eyes too.

Sweat and tears. He was crying.

Letting the ball of light drop, he hid his face in his hands and panted, sobbing, trying to calm himself down. He gripped his hair, pulling on it, the pain distracting him a bit. He managed to calm his lungs, forcing them into a normal, non-panicked rhythm.

'_God, what kind of monster am I?_'

The thought came unbidden, and he hit his forehead with the heel of his hands a couple times, trying to drive it out of his head, grimacing.

The door creaked open.

Tony didn't look up, knowing who it was. But he wiped his face roughly and turned his head, facing the wall. He wasn't in a mood to talk.

Loki climbed onto the unmade bed; it was easy to tell from the creaks that he was walking on it. Then there was a muffled thud as he dropped down gracelessly.

Half a second later, a metal tray with a big slice of pizza was shoved under Tony's nose.

Tony, surprised, looked up at Loki, at his unreadable face. He looked for something there — some hint of approval, disdain, accusation, anything — and found nothing. Void. His hand was shaking slightly when he lifted it to grab the tray. "Thank you," he said, his voice rough and hollow.

"You are welcome," Loki replied automatically, his face still expressionless. "Eat. I bargained for you to wash the trays afterwards in exchange for not helping to cook."

Tony nodded. He wasn't hungry; in fact, his stomach felt like it was curled up into a little ball. He grabbed the pizza and took a bite nonetheless.

It tasted like cheap cheese and watered-down sauce and it felt like ashes on his tongue.

He forced himself to chew and swallow, his brain telling him he needed the nourishment.

Loki joined him in this endeavor, getting the pizza from his own tray and eating it with dainty bites and delicate chewing.

They ate in silence. The only sounds were their combined breathing, masticating and swallowing, and maybe an uncomfortable cough here and there.

When Tony was done, he shoved the tray back at Loki, who took it without question, and, sighing, made to stand up.

Loki shoved him back down before he could raise his ass three inches from the ground.

"What was that for?!" Tony shouted, irrationally angry, glaring right at Loki.

Unimpressed, the warlock smirked coldly and drawled, "Oh, so you can meet my eyes, after all. I had begun to wonder."

God, the mockery. Tony growled at him, itching to punch that smirk off his face. He mocked Tony if he was repentant, he spurned Tony if he wasn't. What the hell was Tony supposed to do? "Oh, I'm sorry, Saruman, was I supposed to follow the example of the great Loki, he with the heart of ice? He who kills and maims little kids and laughs?"

Loki grabbed Tony by the hair and pulled him up until the cables were pulled taut. He gave Tony a warning glare.

"Oh, you don't like it either, do you?" Tony snarled, grabbing Loki's shirt.

"I came back for you and healed you," Loki hissed, his eyes glowing. "I was the one who pulled you out of that room in the first place! It's thanks to me that you are even alive!"

Tony laughed in his face. "And it burns you, doesn't it?" he shouted, baring his teeth. "That you could have let me die and saved all those lives!" Because Tony wasn't kidding himself. The time had come to face the fact that thousands of innocents had died thanks to the things he made, and he wasn't flinching from it. Not anymore.

Loki seemed to power down at that. As if the cable that connected him to the electric grid had been unplugged. His eyes dimmed, his face relaxed, and he suddenly looked ten years older. "Yes," he answered simply, putting Tony back down, "it does."

Tony bowed his head, nodding bitterly. Yeah, it would burn him too. It was a wonder Loki could even sleep at night, burdened by his knowledge, his secret. He wondered if they would hate Loki if they knew how he had spared Tony.

Probably.

Loki grabbed the trays, stood up, and went to the door. He didn't go out right away. Instead, he paused and said, "Someone will be along with your mattress soon. I'll take over your chores for today." Then, without waiting for a response, he left, the door clicking shut behind him.

Tony grabbed the closest thing, the pillow, and threw it at the door with all his might. Then he stood up, walked over and picked it up from the floor. On a whim, he tried the door.

It was unlocked.

He poked his head out.

No guards.

So Loki didn't even think him dangerous enough to lock up or even supervise. Tony scoffed. Good to know.

Deciding against attempting an escape, Tony walked back inside, closing the door.

He just wanted to sleep forever.

Without further ado, he flopped down on the bed — Loki could go and fuck himself with the mattress if he liked it so much — and tapped the glowy orb. It didn't turn off, so Tony kicked off his shoes and put it in one of them, stuffing it under the bed.

Then he got under the covers, curled up on his side, spooning the reassuring presence of his battery at his stomach. It was between him and the wall, so it wouldn't fall off the bed and disconnect.

Though, perhaps it shouldn't be.

Swallowing, he closed his eyes and tried to sleep.


	5. Chapter 4

Over the following days, while Obadiah and the board deliberated on whether or not to 'pay' Tony's ransom, Tony got to experience the life in a refugee-slash-freedom-fighter camp, all under the guidance of his friendly neighborhood psychopath, Loki.

By the end of Tony's first (conscious) week in the MAGI camp, he had yet to be tortured, maimed or killed.

In fact, he was a bit thrown off by how utterly civil everyone was.

Sure, the room where he slept was a pigsty, because both Loki and he were utter slobs, and the food was so bad that even high-schoolers wouldn't eat it, and bathing with other people in the room while holding a battery over his head was still some of the weirdest things he had ever done, but... It was actually quite nice.

Not that he'd admit it to anyone.

He missed Pepper. He missed JARVIS. He missed sleeping in clean sheets and not having to do his own laundry. He missed not having to lug around the stupid car battery that powered the thing that kept him alive.

About that, he still shivered at the knowledge that there was magic at work inside of him. That was not something he could come to terms with in seven days, or possibly ever, even with years of therapy.

And to make matters worse: Loki, of all people, was the one shadowing him — showing him around, _escorting him_ — even after their falling out and Loki's confession of hatred for everything Tony stood for.

It turned out that Loki was not well liked among MAGI members either, which didn't surprise Tony at all. However, at the same time, Loki was indispensable — for several reasons, chief among them being that he was best at artificing, i.e. making gadgets with sygaldry — so everyone put up with him and only insulted him when he was out of earshot.

(Tony saw no connection between this and how life at MIT and the first years working in Howard's R&D department had been for him. No connection. At all. Honest.)

Tony was the same as all those hypocrites. He always put on his Billionaire Philanthropist persona when Loki was close. He could be as painstakingly civil as Loki was, match every fake smile and hollow courtesy, only to stick out his tongue at him when his back was turned. But he was wary of Loki. Of his lies and his tricks. He kept expecting something to explode in his face every time Loki did magic.

Not that Loki did it a lot.

That was another thing that had surprised Tony: how little magic the unnies actually used. They cooked almost everything by hand (he had ample first-hand experience in this), cleaned by hand, washed clothing by hand, they even planted and tended to their own vegetables by hand. It was generally only the children that used the most magic, running around squealing when they played,.

But then, there were the magic things.

The ovens they used for cooking, for starters. No fires. No electricity. Just applied psionics. The lamps as well. Some of them needed to be touched to turn on and tapped twice for off, others responded to claps, others to commands. The washing machines were actual washing machines picked up from the local trash dump and rewired to work with magic. The buckets had a spell that made all dirt in the water in them precipitate to the bottom.

Then there were the myriad of pastes and potions cooked up — generally by Loki, but also by anyone who knew the recipe — for the makeshift infirmary to cure maladies that didn't need healer wasting their talents on them, like scrapes, colds, burns or even, one time, broken bones. And, even better, surgical instruments that were spelled to keep themselves sterile at all times, repelling dust and microbes, with the addition of just a few runes to the handles.

Hell, MAGI didn't use cell phones or radios because Loki had even recreated the _Palantiri _thingies from the book he had lent Tony, which were balls of quantum-entangled rock people could use to communicate over long distances.

Speaking of the books, Tony loved them to death. He had devoured them, and was currently re-reading them. When he had reached the end of the first and discovered it was a trilogy, he had been quietly overjoyed, and he'd hunted for the other two books when Loki was out having bathroom breaks. He thought it was great pity that it was banned back home and resolved to steal the books whenever he got to leave.

"Stark," Loki's voice barked.

It startled Tony from where he had drifted off, leaning on the handle of the mop. "Aye, Captain?" he asked, shifting the sling where he carried the battery a little to the left. It had been digging into his shoulder something fierce, and he would need to massage some bruise paste on later.

"I am needed in the Fishery," his nanny said, pointing meaningfully at the door with his head.

That was the name people had for Loki's workshop. It has taken Tony an embarrassingly long time to understand why they called it that — 'Arti_ficery_,' duh — but thankfully no one had noticed.

Perking up, Tony handed the mop to a nearby person with a cheery "Gotta go!" and walked over to Loki. The only reason he didn't run was because the floor of the hallway was wet and he was still unsteady on his feet, what with being so freshly out of detox and having a forty-pound battery shifting around wherever it wanted.

Ah, that battery. Tony's new best friend. He patted it affectionately. He had nicknamed it Pikachu, though he never said it aloud. He had a feeling Loki would laugh at him forever.

Tony came to a stop in front of Loki and saluted him. "Corporal reporting for duty, Sir!" he joked.

What? He loved workshop fieldtrips. It always cheered him up, seeing the bare bones of magic, the _engineering_, so to speak. 'Reality programming' was endlessly fascinating. It amazed and intrigued Tony to no end what could be done by drawing energy from something as simple as the churning of the magma under the tectonic plates, or the motion of rivers and oceans, or even the cycle of the moon.

He wanted to learn it all, even if it had to be by observation only, as he still wasn't allowed to talk or be talked to. But, hell, Loki had a fuckton of ancient reference tomes, the margins of all of them annotated in pencil with Loki's elegant looping cursive.

It was Loki, after all, the one who kept leaving books out — open at the appropriate pages, even — whenever Tony was struggling to understand a concept. Even though they never talked about Tony secretly learning all the things about magic. Like it was their pet pink elephant and Loki kept feeding it, content to watch it grow larger in silence.

Loki appeared to be in a good mood that day because he greeted Tony's enthusiasm with a small, knowing smile. "Follow me, then," he said, and began walking.

Tony grinned, hitched Pikachu higher on his hip and followed.

* * *

Later that day, Terry and Nina, the first friends Tony had made in this forsaken and fascinating place, died.

Tony was present because he had infirmary duty.

That generally meant helping patch up some patients, dispensing the little medicine they would get or produce, sorting out who needed a healer and who could be tended to by some of the local volunteer doctors, cleaning the floors, feeding the patients and giving them sponge baths, etc.

He had met a lot of people like Nina and Terry, wounded irreparably thanks to his thoughtlessness. Met some people who had been stuck in cuffs for so long that their bodies couldn't remember how to do magic anymore and some who had got hurt on the little guerrilla escapades MAGI did now and then to free more cuffed musers from the Houses. He'd also met those who weren't hurt or damaged, but were there helping out, talking to patients, coaxing them to walk, crying when one died.

After a few minutes of watching Tony swipe the mop around Nina and Terry's beds over and over, the healer in charge allowed him to stay with them.

Their mother, Korto — who, on top of being a witch and a woman, had the misfortune of being black — glared at Tony with black, black eyes, watching his every move.

But she didn't kick him out.

Terry was the first to go. He was smaller and weaker. He was painfully thin after the infection that had taken over his leg, as they hadn't bothered to give him the precious broad-spectrum antibiotics since he was going to die anyway.

Tony had taken to making a paste in secret, a potion from Loki's books, and bringing it to him, but it hadn't helped.

Nina startled awake when she heard their mother's wail and turned her head away from the scene, crying, as soon as she understood what was going on.

Seeing that Korto was busy, Tony sat with Nina on her bed and held her hand.

She smiled toothlessly at him and flicked a couple fingers. The ceiling lit with little balls of light, different colors, dancing together like fireflies. She watched them move until her eyes closed of their own volition.

The lights fizzled out when she did.

Tony kept holding her now limp hand, blinking hard, determined not to cry. He had no right to cry.

He left before Korto could even open her mouth to ask him to go away.

Tony spent the next five days in almost complete reclusion.

He slept very little, mainly because he had nightmares nearly every night.

The subject of his torture varied: sometimes it was being hit by the Flesh-Eating curse, only no one found him and so he faded bit by bit in excruciating pain; sometimes it was children and innocent people getting killed, or worse, _recaptured_, thanks to his inventions. Sometimes he dreamed that they died and that he just played craps and drank champagne and got laid, not caring one bit.

Those nights he could never fall asleep again.

Whenever he was out of his and Loki's room, he lowered his head every time anyone talked to him or looked at him, feeling their accusation in their every action. He moved as silently as possible, took up as little space as possible, all to keep himself from being noticed.

He ate mechanically. If anyone were to ask him what he had eaten for lunch five minutes after eating it, he wouldn't know what to say.

He didn't shave. Barely bathed.

All he wanted from life was a bottle of whiskey. It didn't even need to be the expensive kind. He just wanted to forget.

Ah, but it wasn't so easy, was it? A truth, once seen, cannot be 'unseen'.

So, on the sixth say, with still no word from home, Tony sat up and reached for Loki's shoulder.

The warlock awoke at once. It was too dark to see anything, but Tony could tell from the change in his breathing. "At last, you wake," Loki whispered, sounding amused. Or at least like he was smiling.

Tony nodded, bringing up his knees and wrapping his arms around them. He bit his lip.

Loki huffed and rolled onto his back, the sheets rustling in the silence. "So? Did you wake me just to share in the good news? ...Do you perhaps want a hug? How quaint," he mocked.

More rustling. A slap on glass. The room was bathed in the orb's gentle warm light.

Tony could now see as Loki retrieved his arm, letting it fall onto the pillow. His head was turned and he blinked sleepily at Tony through a curtain of messy hair, his green eyes hazy. He didn't say anything.

They stared at each other a moment or two.

Tony couldn't help but notice how _pretty_ Loki was when just woken up. There was no other word for it. His cheekbones could cut diamonds and his hair, even matted and slightly curly, was black like ink, a perfect contrast to his pale, flawless complexion.

On the other hand, Tony hadn't bathed in three days, or shaved, and he knew for certain he had bruise-like bags under his eyes, for he hadn't been sleeping. He must smell. God, he must look like a complete hobo.

Tony looked away, ashamed, and cleared his throat, trying to subtly indicate to Loki that, no, he wasn't welcome to watch and stare at Tony as though Tony was some animal.

The wizard took the hint, stretching languorously on the mussed sheets and sat up, combing his hair back with his fingers. The old, faded T-shirt Loki wore looked ridiculous on him.

'_He's like a cat_,' Tony observed, amused, watching Loki primp himself. Then he rethought that. Because despite how snuggly Loki looked at that moment, he was still deadly, and cruel, and also a bastard. '_More like a panther_,' Tony amended.

"Shoes," Loki grumbled, turning on the bed so that his legs hung over the side. He waved his naked toes before Tony.

Right, shoes. Because, apparently, since Tony was so close to the floor, it was his job to retrieve the things strewn on it. That or Loki had no idea where his shoes had ended up, which happened a lot more often than it should. Honestly, he was so messy.

Tony found the man a pair of old and ratty canvas flats and tossed them at Loki's head in quick succession.

Loki reacted, but not quickly enough. He managed to catch the first, but the second smacked him on the temple before falling onto the bed. He gave Tony the evil eye.

Tony smiled innocently.

Loki shook his head tiredly, possibly also rolling his eyes, although Tony couldn't be sure from his angle, and got his flats on, before standing and turning towards the door. He was just in the old, over-large cotton t-shirt and knee-length shorts he usually wore to bed, and his legs were on display. They were almost hairless, as if Loki was immune to testosterone, which couldn't be true, going by the width of his shoulders.

"Are you coming or are you planning to just sit there and admire the view?" Loki asked playfully, looking at Tony over his shoulder.

Tony scoffed. "What view?" he asked as he stood up, making sure to grab the battery. "Your flat ass?" He very obviously checked out Loki's rear and wrinkled his nose. "Nah, seen better. Sorry to burst your bubble, you are never gonna be a Playboy bunny."

Loki's shoulders shook and Tony could hear soft snickering. "Whatever you say, Zero," he laughed, opening the door. "As if you are one to talk."

Snorting, Tony grabbed a change of clothes and followed him outside. "I will have you know I've been in GQ seven times," he boasted, even knowing that, in his current state, he wouldn't even be allowed to_ buy_ one of those magazines. Seriously, he smelled like a caveman, and probably looked like one, too.

The hallway was dark but one of the light balls lit up as they walked under it. As they continued, it faded into darkness while the next one picked up the slack. This sort of wave of light followed them one ball at a time as they walked.

They crossed paths with no one, which was good for Tony's cred or whatever was left of it after his not-so-secret meltdown. The baths were also empty, luckily, but it also meant the hot water had been turned off.

Instead of asking Loki to warm some water up, Tony bathed with cold water — which was really cold, as it was stored over the complex, aboveground, and desert temperatures plummeted at night. If anyone asked, he'd say it was refreshing, after the stuffy warmth of Loki's room, and if his lips turned a bit blue, well, Loki wouldn't tell anyone, would he?

It was a badly shivering Tony that Loki helped out of the tub, but he did it mutely, not judging him for choosing to punish himself with freezing cold temperatures. Or maybe he didn't even care, which was even better.

By the time Tony was done toweling himself dry and getting dressed, he was warm enough to stop shivering. He proceeded to the sinks to shave — only to realize he had forgotten to bring his razor. Which was the only razor in the whole complex, as everybody else use magic to shave.

"Let me," Loki said, interrupting his mental tirade. His voice sounded abnormally loud in the empty bathhouse, especially because neither he nor Tony had spoken for the whole duration of Tony's bathing routine.

Surprised and speechless, Tony turned toward him. He thought about it and decided to try it, hoping he wouldn't regret it. "...Okay," he hesitantly replied.

Loki walked up to Tony, stopping a little too close for comfort and cupped his chin in his left hand. He peered down at Tony's face.

Tony's heart skipped a beat. Loki's intensity was rather scaring. "Um," he said, for lack of anything better to say, putting a sound to his unease.

Loki shushed him, meeting his eyes briefly and then began stroking Tony's face with his other hand, using just the pad of his thumb, as if he was wiping dirt away.

Feeling his face burning under the soft touches, gentler than he could ever have imagined Loki's touch being, Tony looked away, counting the tiles in front of the mirror. He stayed perfectly still, only moving his head when Loki directed him to. His pulse raced as Loki stroked up his throat; Tony half-sure Loki would suddenly grow talons and cut it open.

If Loki noticed, he didn't comment on it.

After some minutes, Tony could actually feel Loki's skin on his without the pulling on his whiskers. He groaned, rolling his eyes. "You shaved off all of it, didn't you." It wasn't really a question; Tony was quite sure of the answer.

Loki's face broke out into a mischievous grin. "I could not resist," he confessed, pulling away. "I was tempted by your sudden and thoughtless trust in my good intentions."

Gah. Tony stroked his chin, already missing his beautiful circle beard. It felt so... smooth. So empty. He narrowed his eyes at Loki. "I hate you."

Loki's eyebrows rose. "Oh? What are you going to do about it?" he challenged, haughty.

Tony considered it.

What could he do? Certainly not punch Loki. Or try to shave his head while the warlock was sleeping, he slept very lightly. Short-sheeting his bed would require actually _making_ Loki's bed and he would be suspicious of that alone. And it wasn't like hiding his possessions would be any sort of punishment to a wizard who could just summon his stuff with the flick of a finger.

Watching Loki, he got an idea. "I can find a truth potion in one of your books," he said leadingly.

Loki grabbed him by the shirt and slammed him against a wall. "Don't you dare," he hissed, all menace and danger, his eyes glittering with promise.

'_Wow_.' Tony gulped, raising the hand that wasn't holding the battery in a gesture of surrender. "Fine, fine, no taking the lies away from the liar."

After staring him down some more, possibly to check that the message had sunken in — it had, it _so_ had — Loki put him down but didn't loosen the fist in Tony's borrowed clothing. "You'd better not. Your life depends on that."

'_He is serious_,' Tony thought. He hadn't realized how much he owed his continued existence to Loki, if the man had been lying to keep him alive. Did he believe Loki? Could he believe Loki? ...Maybe just on this; better not risk it. "Yeah, like I said," he shrugged, slapping Loki's hand away, "fine. No need to be an ass about it."

Loki took a step back and regarded him seriously.

Tony rolled his eyes and stalked off, annoyed. He and Loki had been sharing such easy banter until Loki ruined it by getting all sensitive about stuff. Who understood him?

He could hear Loki cursing and running after him, turning his stride into an easy walk as soon as he caught up with Tony.

"Don't fucking follow me, Saruman," Tony grumbled. He wanted some damn time alone. Or not necessarily alone, just away from Loki. He was sick and tired of seeing his smug face everywhere he went, everything he did. Never saying anything, but always, always judging.

"I can't," Loki replied in sing-song, apparently enjoying himself very much. He was grinning at Tony's distress.

Growling, Tony reached out and pushed him away, taking off running.

Loki followed him like a bad conscience, laughing.

* * *

It took Tony a few days to get back into waking life, but he soon got back into the stride of things.

With one difference.

Before, he had only done his chores at all because it was what everyone did. Also because, while he had known he was better than them, he didn't want it to be obvious enough to create resentment when he didn't have the upper hand. At the same time, since they were keeping him there against his will, he did them half-heartedly in a subtle protest. It wasn't like they expected much of him anyway.

But now?

Now, he did them with zeal.

He owed the world in general and magic users in particular a huge apology.

The idea of shutting down the AP division of his company, possibly also the entire weapons division (for who knew how many innocent lives his weapons had taken in Afghanistan and Iraq alone), had been planted in his head that first day when he met the children his inventions had mutilated and robbed of life.

But it was more than that now. He had wronged these people in more ways than just producing technology they couldn't fight against and selling it to the highest bidder: he had sat back and let the injustice happen. He had supported the cause of their persecutors. What they did, enslaving people for an accident of birth, as Loki had put it, hunting them down like dogs, was monstrous.

He used to think musers were the monsters, the unnatural ones. They had always seemed so strange to him. So quiet and meek, so uneducated, so lazy, yet holding back enormous power; power to bend or break every law of physics Tony had thought, in his ignorance, absolute.

Now he knew better. He had studied magic, founds its laws and limitations. He had actual proof that magic was part of the natural order of things, that _magic users_ were part of the natural order of things. He had met them, got to know them, seen that they had purpose, value, and the right to exist.

Just like everyone else.

The only monster there was him.

Chores were his atonement. His escape. Until he returned home and was actually in a position to fix everything, helping here was the best he could do.

He met more people. He remembered the name of everyone who died thanks to his inventions in the time he was there, starting with Nina and Terry. He still had nightmares almost every night, even when he had worked himself to exhaustion, but now he bore them with dignity, knowing he deserved them.

Loki stood as a silent witness, always watching, always judging, and never speaking of it. It seemed like he couldn't care less about what internal metamorphosis Tony might or might not be going through, like he would never think of him anything other than what Tony did: that Tony was a monster.

But he began answering Tony's questions about magical theory and artificing instead of just pointing him at books. Even better, he began actively showing him things.

Different sigils and what the placement of each of it component parts meant. How the way they were laid — carved, painted, stitched, there were a million ways — affected their effectiveness, with added practical demos. What materials should they be put in and why. He also allowed Tony to give his opinions on the work of the other apprentices, seeing if Tony could find flaws or ways to improve it.

By the end of Tony's first month among the warlocks, with still no answer from Obie or the company, Loki was apparently impressed enough: he gave Tony his own bathrobe, an ugly red and yellow tartan thing, and, more importantly, his own bench.

Tony didn't want it. He refused to touch it for four whole days, dreading that he could unwittingly create one more weapon.

Then, somehow, Loki got whoever made the chores rota to put Tony in workshop duty and handed him the materials and the sigils to carve into whatever needed them.

And Tony started making things again.

Pots and pans, light-orbs, Palantiri, washing machines, self-cleaning buckets. And once, his crown jewel, a cold trunk (he refused to call them 'fridges') which he made from scratch, cutting and sanding the wood himself.

The kids in the Fishery respected him. They asked for his input or offered theirs with no malice, even The Fierce One, who still tensed up when Tony approached her. They had easy banter going. Hell, he even found himself giving one of them relationship advice.

Slowly but surely, Tony was healing.

* * *

A month and a half into his kidnapping and subsequent epiphany, Tony finally got the nerve to ask Loki the question that had been bugging him for the past sixteen years.

Well, rather, he'd had the nerve for a few weeks now but he hadn't thought Loki would answer truthfully.

What clued him in to the fact that he would was hearing Loki stand up for him against the head honcho's little bro. Or rather, eavesdropping on the scene.

Tony was trusted enough around the complex to go to the bathroom alone by now, which was a godsend because he had hated announcing every time he had to go so someone would accompany him, and, even worse, returning to a room where everyone looked at him with 'I know you just took a dump' written all over their creepy faces. Or worse, when he took a bath and Loki tagged along; in those cases, the people who noticed his wet hair projected 'I know you just touched yourself in front of Loki.'

So there he had been. Not in the toilet, but in the actual bathroom, taking a bath. He had found a tub next to a wall that had a hook and he hung the battery from it while he took his damn time, finally having learned the secret to getting hot water a few weeks before.

When he came back to his and Loki's room, he had heard voices coming from the inside.

At first, he had thought Loki had snuck in a hookup, because that was what voices in someone's room meant in Tony's world. But no, it turned out that the Other Thanos didn't have an office to summon Loki to, so he had decided to invade Loki's den.

Tony had been about to continue on his way, completely uninterested in whatever Loki was being chewed out on — knowing the Other, it could be anything from teaching Tony magic to having washed the colors with the whites — when he heard his name.

"—our time with Stark," the Other was saying. "You said it would work."

"I didn't say anything," Loki answered, cool as a cucumber. "You heard whatever you wanted."

"We should have heard back from them by now!" the Other screeched.

Tony held his breath. They were discussing his ransom.

"But we haven't. And I think it's normal." Loki was probably speaking in such an unbothered, parsimonious way on purpose to annoy the Other. "It's a huge choice we are asking them to—"

"They choose whether they want Stark alive or not!" the Other exploded. "And while they dither, refusing to make a statement, you are teaching Stark magic. How stupid can you be?!"

Loki scoffed dismissively. "Chill out, Other, he's a good man. Young and stupid, but good. Honorable."

"Honorable? He makes weapons that spray our people with magic-suppressing shrapnel! He makes the yokes that go around the necks of our brethren!"

From where he was plastered against the door, Tony raised his eyebrows. '_Melodramatic much?_'

Loki seemed to agree. "Oh, don't be such a drama queen," he said dismissively. "Besides, you are making one vital mistake."

Rustling. Steps. Loki must be walking towards the Other.

"What mistake?"

"Stark _made_ weapons," Loki said, stressing the past tense. "I have faith he will not return to them after we return him."

Well, wasn't that heartwarming. Tony blinked a couple times, smiling. Loki had faith in him. Huh. Cool.

"That is, if we return him," the Other parried heatedly.

'_What?_' Tony thought anxiously. '_What do you mean _if?' He pressed himself closer to the door, his ear practically plastered to it.

"Stark Industries has made no reply to any of the messages we sent them," the Other continued. "At this rate, we might as well assume they don't want him back enough to stop selling anti magic weapons."

'_No, Obie wouldn't do that_,' Tony thought, his forehead creased. '_He cares about me more than the profits. He practically raised me. He came to my high school graduation, when even Mom couldn't, and he bought me pie afterwards. Granted, it was the worst pie I've ever eaten in my life, but he said that I didn't have to eat it all_.' He shook his head.

No, Obie wouldn't desert him.

Incongruously, Loki started laughing. Not the cold mocking laugh he had used at the beginning with Tony but full-belly laughter, the kind Tony had never heard coming from him before. It sounded like Loki had just heard the best joke in his life.

"What? Why do you laugh?" the Other demanded.

"Oh, man," Loki sighed, and chuckled some more. "Please say you didn't send the video to Stark Industries."

A pause.

Then, in a small, uncertain voice, the Other said, "Yes, I did. Why?"

Tony couldn't hear but he imagined Loki was clucking his tongue disapprovingly. "You are letting them keep it private, you fool. You should have sent it to a news station." Now Loki sounded angry. "You should have uploaded it to YouTube, I don't know! Just made it public. Forced the issue!"

Loki had a point there. Tony caught himself nodding along, and stopped immediately.

The Other didn't say anything at first. Then, "That is your strategy? Go public?"

"Yes. Let everyone know that they are still undecided between saving Stark's life and carrying on making inhumane weapons." Loki laughed again and this time it was the cold one. "People in the United States of America are very opinionated. They'll begin debating it in TV shows and magazines. It will remain fresh in their minds for weeks, never dying down, until Stark Industries announces their choice. And then, no matter what they choose, people will be angry at them. For saving us or dooming Stark. For taking so long. They will lose all credibility!"

'_Oh, he is good_,' Tony thought, feeling a bit hollow. Of course Loki had some grand plan, it just didn't include him. He just wanted to sink S.I. to the ground, which Tony was going to do anyway when he got back, because Loki had got him all enamored of musers and magic in general.

Fuck, he hated being used.

"Very well," the Other was saying, "I shall do as you say. And it better work out this time."

Oops. Tony walked backwards quickly, moving away from the door. As soon as it opened, he changed directions, pretending he had just come from the shower.

The Other Thanos glared at him before stomping off in a huff.

Tony's amused smirk was very real as he entered the room. "What's up with him?" he asked, keeping up the pretense.

Loki sent him an unreadable look.

'_Busted?_' Tony wondered, holding Loki's gaze.

Loki narrowed his eyes sharply.

Tony flinched, surprised, and looked away.

"You heard," Loki murmured.

'_Definitely busted_,' Tony deduced. Seeing no point in hiding it, he nodded. "Yeah, I heard." He tried to make his voice inflectionless and almost managed. It came out slightly accusatory.

Loki offered him a wry smile and plopped down onto his unmade bed. He patted the spot next to him. "Take a seat."

Not quite sure what exactly was going on, Tony did, joining him on the bed, back tense, resting Pikachu on his lap. He swallowed.

"I did not save your life and kidnap you just to discredit your company," Loki said tightly. "That was the excuse I gave them." He gestured at the door with his chin.

Well, this was new to Tony — heart to hearts weren't usually a thing they did. "No?" he asked, honestly curious, internally smacking himself on the forehead for believing Loki's bullshit.

Loki shot him a look out of the corner of his eyes and shook his head. "No. I saved your life to save your life."

Tony raised his eyebrows, crossing his arms. "Really now. How unusually un-convoluted, coming from you."

Loki chuckled warmly, giving Tony a grin that would have looked sheepish on anyone else. "I see how you may not believe me—"

"Oh, no, I do," Tony interrupted, grinning back. "I'm just surprised you admitted to being simple at least one time in your life." He relaxed his posture, letting his arms fall back to cradle the battery on his lap. "Do you feel responsible for me? Since you helped me before and everything? Why did you do it, anyway?"

It was something he had been meaning to ask Loki for the last sixteen years. Why had Loki come back for him? Why had he braved capture and slavery to get a potion to Tony? Guilty conscience?

Loki looked down at his hands on his lap. The line of his shoulders was tense. "I had done you a great wrong. When I tricked you into setting me free—" He cut himself off, his hands making fists. He seemed to be biting the inside of his lips. He sighed. "I was not in a good place, back then."

Tony nodded. "Yeah, I read the file. You were experimented on. Kept away from your magic as punishment." He shook his head, still not believing that his father's scientists had allowed such an atrocity. "I guess you just saw your chance and took it."

Silence.

Then, a sigh that sounded more like a sob that anything else. "I cared about nothing but getting free. They wouldn't even allow me to kill myself." Loki's voice was tight, strained. His eyes were unfocused. "I would have killed anything in my path — I am a monster."

Wow. Deep shit. Tony hadn't signed up for feely stuff but it appeared he would have to deal with it. He brought the subject up, after all. He raised a hand and hesitated briefly before laying it on Loki's shoulder. "There, there," he tried, wincing slightly. He wasn't the best person to comfort someone else. "You weren't a complete monster. You did pull me out when you could have left me for dead."

Loki bowed his head, his eyes closing. "So that your father wouldn't have more cause to hunt me down and kill me," he whispered.

Tony couldn't help it, he snorted. "Oh, you needn't have worried. He probably wouldn't even have noticed I died. He hunted you down because you knew too much about Stark Industries prototypes, not because I almost died." And saying it never really got any easier, did it?

Biting his lip, Loki shot Tony a look. "We're a pair, huh?"

Nodding emphatically, Tony murmured, "Yep." He patted the battery, drumming his fingers on it. "So, why did you come back? Guilt attack?"

"Yes," Loki whispered, turning his face away again. "I'd never injured an innocent before. It was eating at me. It took me almost a year to develop that potion I gave you."

"See?" Tony said, grinning and nudged Loki's side. "Not a _complete_ monster." He was desperate for something to cheer the dude up, or else he would keep going on about his feelings.

Loki smiled at that and it reached his eyes. "A monster with a conscience. Who would have thought?" he snorted.

Tony raised his arms, hands facing out. "Hey, hey, been there, done that. Only my conscience took a while longer to take effect."

Then Loki did something amazing.

He drew Tony into a one armed hug.

Tony was so surprised he didn't pull away.

It lasted for maybe one whole second and then it was over, both men gathering the shattered remains of their masks and putting them back together.

Tony cleared his throat. "So, I've been thinking..." he started and waited for Loki's obligatory joke.

"Oh?" Loki asked, acting surprised. "I thought I smelled smoke," he teased.

Rolling his eyes, Tony continued. "I've been thinking. Instead of lugging this around," he tapped the battery, "is it possible to make another piece of sygaldry that siphons and stores magic to power the sigil in my chest?"

Loki tilted his head and tapped his chin. "I think so. Maybe if we made it in quartz... But then—"

"—There would be no way to connect it to the coin," Tony finished for him. "There is my problem."

Loki mulled on it. "Maybe if we add another sigil? One that links the magic in the stone to the coin—"

"Only then it wouldn't work because stone to metal is almost impossible..." Tony trailed off. Then, inspired, he snapped his fingers. "_But_ if we replace the coin too—"

"Stone to stone," Loki cut off, galvanized. "Could work."

They grinned at each other.

And then Tony groaned. "I'm gonna have to go through another operation!" he lamented.

Loki patted his shoulder.


	6. Chapter 5

Loki could barely believe Stark had swallowed that bullshit about how Loki's guilt had been the primary motivator to save him.

Stark thought that Loki was bullshitting MAGI, inventing excuses for having saved Tony and that Loki would continue saving him no matter what. Because he was self-centered in that way, like a child.

MAGI thought Loki was bullshitting Tony, purposely painting the magic users in a light of martyrdom to torture him but that he would kill him when the time came.

The truth was that Loki was bullshitting everyone.

Possibly even himself.

* * *

It took nearly four days to have a working prototype of the sigils Stark had proposed.

The man certainly wasn't shy about asking for input, but he never accepted it when it was freely offered. Well, until an hour later when he finished doing his calculations and reached the conclusion that Loki's offhand comment was actually the best fit.

That was another thing that surprised Loki: how mathematically Stark approached the art of artificery. For Loki, pieces of a sigil just seemed to fit, forming a perfect, even flow of magic. He couldn't explain it. It was like music, in a way — the wrong symbol or the wrong position felt much the same as playing the wrong note. But Stark... Stark arrived at the best note to play next by calculating how well it sounded with the others, as if he was playing deaf but he knew the rules of what sounded good.

Loki found him several stones for him to practice his carving on. Useless stuff he had found on the side of the road, none of the quality materials used for fine artificery. It was a good job, too, because it took a whole day for Stark to finally carve a sigil into one without breaking the stone.

And even then, even carved in the cheapest, most common granite, the sigil worked.

Stark, who had devised (or recreated) a number of magic-measuring instruments Loki had no idea what they were (or interest in finding out), exclaimed happily. "This is amazing," he announced. "This thing here is leeching nearly three hundred thaums from the environment."

It wasn't that impressive, considering they were in a makeshift camp of nearly five hundred magic users and also sitting on a minor telluric current. Then again, considering only about twenty percent of the rock was quartz, the best kind of rock for magic, maybe it was a bit impressive.

"So we know it works," Loki said, leaning over Stark's shoulder to look at the carving, noticing — and liking — how the man held his breath at their proximity.

The carving was very amateurish, and looked the part. Some of the lines were a bit cracked around the edges, especially the circles and the points where lines met. All the same, it was Stark's first working stone sigil and the man was sitting with his chest puffed out in pride.

Loki gave him some advice on rock carving, pointing at the places where the method had been shoddy and told him to practice more. Then he added, "I will attempt to get the stones you will need."

Stark turned around and regarded Loki with raised eyebrows. "What, I don't get to choose?" he asked defiantly, fiercely protective of his project.

Their faces were about two inches apart, as Loki was still leaning over him, but Stark didn't seem to notice.

Feeling uncomfortable, Loki sighed and rolled his eyes, making a production of pulling away. He gave Stark a long look. "Think of me as your consultant on a subject you know nothing about."

Stark frowned and sat up in his stool. "Hey, I know—"

"About sigils," Loki interrupted. "And a small part about materials, yes. However, you lack the knowledge to choose the best stone for this work because you cannot feel the magical properties. Like that time you used cypress instead of cedar for the lining of the cooling cabinet." He remembered how everyone had laughed at Stark for that mistake.

Stark crossed his arms, apparently remembering as well. "I still say there is no difference," he grumbled. "It worked, didn't it?"

Loki grinned. "Cypress wood is spiritual things, like scrying bowls or Ouija boards. Cedar is for preservation, longevity and cleansing."

Stark got that tic in his left eye he always got when he was wrong about something but didn't want to admit it. "It's just wood," he muttered under his breath, huffing.

"And this is just stone," Loki replied, tapping the rough ball of rock where Stark had carved his energy-gathering sigil. "But believe me, you will see the difference when you carve the same sigil in quartz."

Stark looked away. "That will be pretty. Everyone will be able to see my heart beating if the lighting is right."

Loki shook his head. "No, they will not. For two reasons. One, it will be smoky quartz. Pure quartz is great for conducting magic but not for storing it."

Stark snapped his fingers, grinning. "Smoky quartz has impurities, they can store the magic. Right?"

Well, at least he wasn't a complete idiot. Loki gave him a small smile. "Indeed. And second, it will not be going into your chest. We will cut a hole in your sternum and set it there. The bone can grow over the quartz almost seamlessly."

"Okay, sounds good," Stark agreed, relaxing. "And for the other part? What stone shall it be, O Wise Merlin?"

Loki snorted. He'd never get over Stark's penchant for calling him names of powerful or famous wizards. "Citrine. It has regenerative properties," he said vaguely.

Citrine was a subtle rebuke. Sure, it encouraged tissue regeneration, amplified healing energies and strengthened the heart and the liver, as well as other viscera. But it also detoxified the bearer physically, mentally, and emotionally, and diminished self-destructive tendencies they may have.

Could have been worse. Loki could have chosen amethyst for its properties of preventing intoxication with alcohol and forgotten about the healing requirements.

Stark tapped his chin, covered in the newly regrown goatee. "Hm. It's a type of quartz, right?" He waited for Loki's nod and grinned. "I know this one. The similarity strengthens the bond between the two stones. Less energy is lost on the link. Um," he frowned slightly, trying to remember, "the consanguinity principle, right?"

"Almost. Correspondence," Loki replied, biting back a smile.

Stark still had memory problems now and then, due to the alcohol withdrawal. He had learned the names of the principles wrong and he'd never been able to correct it. It provided ceaseless entertainment for Loki, and annoyed Stark to no end.

As evidenced by how he smacked his forehead. "Correspondence, of course," he murmured chidingly. He shook his head. "Okay, so, I practice my carving skills and you get me the stones... when?"

Loki arched an eyebrow at him. "Pure citrine is not easy to find, you know," he drawled. "Neither is smoky quartz, not as big as you need it anyway, especially not in this place." He shrugged. "I ordered them online. They should arrive in Ciudad Juarez in a couple more days."

Stark blinked at him. "Online?" he parroted. "Y-you can use a computer?" he sputtered, eyebrows high.

Loki smacked him upside the head. "Of course I can use a computer, you idiot. This isn't the middle ages."

That seemed to bring Stark up short. "Right, right, right. Of course. Sorry, I got—I don't even know. Just, the mental image of you, anyone in here, really, just logging on to eBay and ordering magical artifacts..." He laughed.

How stupid could this man be? "Of course you can buy magical artifacts online!" Loki shouted, agitated. "What, did you think we use all the pots and pans we make here? All the self-cleaning buckets?" He shook his head. "Just because you live in a society that denies magic exists and hides the magic users from public access, it doesn't mean the rest of the world is the same. Magic users are prized," he said seriously. "And their services, available to the public, are costly."

Stark had frozen with his mouth open, as if he'd been about to say something. He blinked, apparently thinking better of it and closed his mouth. "Right. So, right now, someone is cooking dinner in one of the self-heating pots I made." His eyes were wide and unfocused.

Loki chuckled. "Indeed. Without even knowing it."

"That's..." Stark closed his eyes and took a deep breath, shaking his head slowly. "...wow." He looked at Loki again. "Right, so, shoo," he actually made shooing motions. "I have practice to do, don't you know?"

Loki looked at him mysteriously for a moment before stalking off, knowing Stark would wonder what he meant with that look for the rest of the day.

* * *

When the stones arrived at last, Loki had to go and pick them up in town, for the local post office didn't deliver to their makeshift camp. Since he was in town, he picked up a new razor for Stark, whose supposedly clean shaven cheeks were looking patchy, and, on a whim, cheeseburgers from Burger King, guessing the man might enjoy the taste of home.

He wasn't wrong.

Stark lit up like a Christmas tree when Loki confirmed the bag was for him, and practically tore it from his hands. He unwrapped one of the burgers hastily and bit into it immediately. His eyes grew misty and he excused himself for a moment, to Loki's amusement.

Seeing that Stark would be gone for a while, possibly crying with nostalgia, Loki pulled out the chunk of citrine and began shaping and polishing it. He carved it into a coin-sized disc about the diameter of his thumb's fingernail, making the edges smooth so that it wouldn't tear the soft tissue of the beating heart it would be stuck against.

Then he fixed it under a lens and began carving the sigil that would counteract — keep at bay — the Flesh-Eating curse.

Stark had argued that he should do it himself but Loki had retorted that, since Loki had _invented the curse_, he knew how to disable it better than anyone, and so he should be the one to carve it. Stark had relented after that, wisely choosing to defer to Loki on that subject. There really was no room for error.

By the time Stark came back, a smudge of ketchup on the corner of his mouth, Loki was putting the finishing touches.

It was a marvelously complicated sigil, practically his masterpiece, full of redundancies and contingencies for every possible energy input, position, or changes in the distance from the curse.

Loki finished and sat back, stretching. He had sweat on his brow, which he wiped on his sleeve.

"Are you done?" Stark asked eagerly. "Can I see it?"

Loki slid off the stool to give him room. "Knock yourself out."

Stark sat at once, spying the carved citrine through the magnifying glass. He stilled. Did not even appear to be breathing. He stayed in silence for a while.

Loki's shoulders shook in mirth and he bit the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning.

What Loki had just carved into that stone was to sygaldry as an opera was to music._ This_ was true sygaldry.

At last, Stark seemed to remember how to breathe, and said, "Oh," in a tiny voice filled with awe, as if he'd just realized how silly he had been to believe himself an artificer, to believe he had learned all there was to learn.

That was the sound of a humbled man.

Music to Loki's ears. "You like it?" enquired Loki as if he didn't care one way or the other.

Stark shook his head at Loki over his shoulder. "Don't fish for compliments, Morgana," he chided. "Your ego is showing."

Loki gave into the urge to smile, leaning on the table next to Stark. "But I expect you will want all sorts of compliments when your work is done," he drawled saucily, casually licking his thumb and reaching out to wipe the ketchup away from Stark's mouth.

"Naturally," Stark replied, and then froze at Loki's touch. He didn't stop Loki, _couldn't_ stop Loki, as it seemed his brain had short-circuited. When Loki removed his hand, he blinked a lot and turned back to stare at the sigil. He took a deep breath, and carried on as if nothing had happened. "I'll only say this once. This is fucking A+. Happy?" He had eyes for the sigil only, and the tips of his ears were pink.

Loki was, actually. "No," he lied, "A+ is rather a plebeian description, don't you think? Really, a man with your education, resorting to such low vernacular," he chided, clucking his tongue.

Stark pushed himself away from the table and gave Loki a long look, visibly biting his tongue. Then, he threw his hands in the air. "Well, tough, it's the only one I'm willing to give." His tone seemed to say, 'so there.'

Tossing his head back, Loki gave him a haughty look. "In that case, I suppose I must accept it."

"Nah-uh, too late," Stark announced, jumping off the stool to his feet. "I take it back. You get no compliments. Now shoo, let me work, I have stuff to do."

Loki smiled at him knowingly. "As you wish," he replied simply, even taking a small bow.

It startled a laugh out of Stark and he covered his smiling mouth, as if wishing he could take it back.

Loki winked at him and left him to his devices, wondering when exactly bantering with Stark had become fun.

* * *

Unsurprisingly, Stark did excellent work on his carving, possibly so that his work wouldn't be so hopelessly outclassed by Loki's, and Loki gave him the OK to follow through with the installation.

Since Loki and the best healer, Castiglione, didn't get along so well, Stark was tasked with the actual asking of the favor, while Loki waited for him outside the healer's room, arms crossed over his chest.

The door opened and Stark came out, looking blank, and walked past Loki as if he wasn't there.

Loki unpeeled himself from the wall. "How did it go?" he asked, joining Stark, matching his stride.

"She said yes," Stark replied, then frowned. "I think? I couldn't get a read on her. She has, like, the perfect poker face." He shuddered.

Loki laughed at that. "Welcome to the club." He clapped Stark's shoulder amicably.

"One can't even get cues from her voice," Stark continued. "Seriously. I have a talking robot, sorta, back home? Haven't managed to code emotions into him yet and he already talks with more feeling than this chick."

Finally, someone who understood! Everyone else worshipped the ground she walked on.

"I know!" Loki concurred excitedly. "And she has no body language to speak of, either. It's like talking to a wall."

Stark nodded emphatically. Then he did a double take and stared at Loki's hand on his shoulder, his eyes slowly traveling up the arm until he met Loki's eyes in a stare.

Right. They weren't friends.

Loki let his arm drop and took a step away, clearing his throat delicately. "So, have you set a date?" he asked instead, not knowing what to do with his hands. He ended up clasping them behind his back.

Stark didn't answer at first, still looking at Loki.

Contemplating him? Judging him? Loki couldn't tell. It was unreadable. He could only bear the weight of the stare.

At last, Stark looked forward again and answered, "Oh, right, date," as if he'd only then heard the question. His eyes widened minutely, and he cleared his throat. "Yes. Tomorrow." He exhaled shakily.

Loki hummed. As soon as possible, then. '_Castiglione must know something I don't_,' he thought immediately. He wondered what it was. "What will you do until then?" he asked.

Stark shrugged. "I dunno. Whatever. More pots and pans, maybe. Or I'll try my hand at peeling tomatoes."

That almost made Loki miss the next step for snorting. "Who knows? You learned how to do magic without having a drop of it in your body. Maybe you will master the science of peeling tomatoes one day."

They shared a glance and burst out laughing, needed to lean on the wall to keep from falling.

"I take it you'll be pointing and laughing at me the whole time?" Stark asked, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye.

Loki sobered up and shook his head. "Sadly, I'll have to miss the spectacle. Errands to run," he invented. "But I'm sure someone will tell me all about it later in lush detail," he teased.

"Don't believe a word they say!" Stark warned, before breaking into chuckles. "Fine, then, I suppose we part ways?"

"We do." Loki offered Stark his hand.

Stark shook it.

The moment felt strangely solemn to Loki.

Then the both of them retrieved their hands and walked in different directions.

Loki had to discover what was going on.

* * *

He spent the rest of the day asking around subtly.

Loki had perfected this way of standing that seemed to indicate to people that he was supposed to be there — wherever 'there' may be — when he was around twenty-three and traveling through France.

He had left the United States, the home that had betrayed him, behind for greener pastures. He'd decided he needed no home, and so took to roaming aimlessly. He visited Europe, learned magic, traveled with gypsies and then Saharan nomads, studied the ancient curses in the Pyramids, looked through old and crumbling texts, clay tablets and papyrus rolls in the Near East and India, studied the principles of Zen and Taoism and Shibumi.

This period of being a nomad lasted him nearly ten years, and he learned a lot in that time.

Foremost in that learning was the knowledge of how to blend in and be completely inconspicuous, despite being six feet and four inches tall and strikingly beautiful. It had less to do with letting his facial hair grow out or wearing disguises than it did with behaving in a certain way, walking at a certain pace, holding himself in a certain posture. These 'certains' varied from place to place, but adopting them now came as natural to Loki as magic.

Perhaps it was a form of magic as well. He wouldn't know, magic was always half instinct for him.

So he blended in — busying himself with pretending to wipe tables in the mess hall, disappearing into the background — and listened.

"...word came today, did you hear?"

"No, I've been stuck with farm duty all day."

"Miller went to Juarez to buy some meat and she heard."

Loki slowly made his way toward the table where this conversation was happening. He recognized Russell and Cuccia but he didn't know who the third one was.

"Yeah, so Rodriguez said Miller said she heard it on the news. Apparently, it's everywhere. Newspapers, the radio, the television."

"Goddammit, Cobb, just tell us already!" someone exploded. Russell, definitely him.

"Turns out Stark ain't so well loved by his own peeps either," Cobb replied.

Loki moved even closer.

A scoff. Russell again, Loki would recognize that scoff anywhere. "Like that is any news. You've seen the way he struts around like he owns the place."

A slap.

"Ow! What was that for?" Russell complained.

"For talking crap about Stark," Cuccia deadpanned. "He's actually nice. When he wants to be."

"Oh, shut up. He's only nice to children because he's got a hard-on for them," Russell said dismissively.

The table fell quiet.

Russell coughed. "That sounded better in my head," he muttered.

"Anyway," Cobb interrupted, regaining control of the conversation. "The news is that that Obadiah Stane person is not taking the deal. Said, and I quote, that he 'don't negotiate with terrorists'."

Russell spat. "So we saved Stark's shit life for nothing?"

But Loki wasn't paying attention any longer.

No wonder Castiglione had acceded to going out of her way and operate on Stark: she wasn't planning to.

Thanos was going to kill him, possibly even film it and upload it to the internet because he was stupid like that despite having already agreed with Loki, months before, that they were better off letting him go alive.

And not only would everyone who watched that video think them monsters and withdraw their potential help, but the US military would have definite proof of where the MAGI members were hiding. They would raze the place to the ground.

Loki dropped the rag he had found and went to find Stark, making sure not to run so as not to attract attention to himself, despite how much he wanted to just hurry the hell up before everything went to shit.

Stark was in the kitchen, losing a small war with a tomato, to the amusement of the children who were with him.

Loki grabbed his arm tight enough to hurt.

"Ow, what the hell?!" the man hissed, turning and spotting him. "Loki?" He sounded very surprised. "I thought you had errands..." he trailed off.

Pretty sure he was looking paler than usual, Loki whispered, "Grab your battery and follow me."

Stark, apparently feeling the urgency, did so without protest. "Be right back, kids," he waved, an almost convincing fake smile on his lips, "Loki needs me to help him with something."

"Bye, Tony!" they chorused, waving.

Loki tugged him on pointedly.

"Coming, coming," Stark hissed, pulling his arm away. "What's up with you?"

"No time to explain," Loki whispered urgently, grabbing him again and leading him to the infirmary. "The stones, do you have them on you?"

"Uh, yeah," Stark answered, his eyebrows slightly raised, his eyes flitting all over Loki's face. "Why? Where's the fire?"

Relieved, Loki let out a huge breath, his pace becoming more sedate. "Good. That is good. Come now." He pulled on Stark's arm, drawing him into a shortcut.

Stark had had enough. He dug his heels in, snatching his arm back quite violently. "Will you stop?!" he shouted. "What the fuck is going on?"

Loki grabbed him by the shoulders. "Stane sent his reply. No deal. He doesn't negotiate with terrorists, apparently."

Stark paled dramatically and for a second there Loki thought he was going to faint. "What?" managed, his voice thin and small, disbelieving, his eyes so wide his irises looked small among the white.

"Happened earlier today. That's why Castiglione was so weird; she knew Thanos was going to kill you anyway."

The man's knees did go weak at that, and he had to brace himself on Loki to remain upright. He breathed hard a couple times, his eyes unblinking, flitting here and there as he processed _that_. "Kill me?" he parroted.

"Yes, kill you. It's what stupid kidnappers do when people don't pay their ransom," Loki barked harshly. "Now, you will stand and walk with me to the infirmary. Alvarado owes me a favor, he'll attach the stones."

"Alvarado is only a rank three," Stark muttered hollowly, lost gaze landing on the floor. "I'm dead either way."

Loki grabbed him by the chin hard enough to bruise. "You _may _die if Alvarado does the operation. Conversely, if you don't move your ass right now, I _will_ kill you myself."

Stark swallowed heavily. "Gotcha," he said, his eyes focusing again. He began stalking towards the infirmary. "Well? What are you waiting for?" he asked Loki, grinning savagely. "I could die because you are slow, you know?"

* * *

Alvarado refused point-blank to operate on Stark.

At least until Loki walked over to the supply cabinets, calmly took out a scalpel and threw it with deadly precision at him.

The ridiculously sharp knife landed in the wall, burying itself one inch into it, leaving a shallow cut on the side of his throat.

Loki twirled another scalpel between his fingers. "What was your answer again? I don't think I quite caught it the first time." He had embellished a bit when he'd told Stark Alvarado owed him one; the man hadn't. He did now, for sparing his life.

Alvarado looked like he was one fast movement on Loki's part away from shitting himself. "Y-yes, of course I'll do the operation." He wiped a bead of sweat off his temple. "Stark, give me the stones, get on the bed."

Stark reached into his pocket and handed them over. Then he peeled his shirt up until it gathered under his armpits and laid down.

There was no time for anesthesia, so they didn't use any. Loki gave Stark a pillow to bite into, and Stark accepted it with just one comment about this not counting towards classifying him as a pillow-biter so Loki better not even think of joking about it.

Alvarado got out the tools. Scalpel, bone drill, retractors. He even pulled on a couple of precious latex gloves.

The operation itself was bloody, and painful, and Loki would be having nightmares about the muffled screams over the sound of the drill whittling away the bone.

Loki helped where he could, numbing the pain as they removed a circle of Stark's sternum, holding the retractors open, trying not to puke at the sight of Stark's heart beating against the tarnished coin as the healer removed it and replaced it with the small citrine disc, suppressing the curse while they installed the quartz disc in the hole in the bone, holding Stark's hand while Alvarado forced the bone to grow to fill the spaces.

The smoky quartz began glowing an eerie blue as soon as it snapped into place — Loki didn't want to think exactly how much magic the thing was pulling from the world that it manifested into a colored glow — and the skin refused to grow over it, so Alvarado just made it heal around the cut, where it scarred black, giving the blue shining disc a nice frame.

All in all, it took maybe half an hour. Possibly forty minutes, if one counted the preparations and the cleanup.

Stark spat out the pillow, sitting up and leaned over to the side to vomit.

Loki took pity on him and rubbed his back.

"What now?" Stark asked after he had tamed his stomach again, looking up at Loki with hurt, trusting eyes.

Fuck. Why did he trust Loki so much? Loki had brought him nothing but pain upon more pain! "Now, we steal a car and I drive you to the US border," he answered matter-of-factly.

Stark managed a wobbly grin. "Excellent. Always wanted to steal a car, never had the excuse." He stood up on weak knees and grabbed at Loki's shirt, making a fist, to steady himself. He looked down and spotted the glow. "Huh, a built-in nightlight. Hey, how much magic do you figure I'm pulling?" he asked, eyebrows raised on his clammy forehead.

A staggering amount. Over five thousand thaums, all concentrated into the impurities of a small disc of quartz.

"I'm sure you'll figure it out later," Loki said, pulling on Stark to get a move on. "Car. Border. Life. Okay?"

"Right," Stark nodded. "Okay. Sounds awesome."

Loki threw a veil around the both of them to hide them as they sneaked out of the complex, the afternoon sun baking them alive. He found an old ratty truck and forced Stark into the passenger seat before circling around and getting in. He put his hand near the ignition, ready to jump-start it with a bolt of magic.

Stark laid a hand over his.

"What now?" Loki exploded, glaring at him. What could possibly be more important than escaping with his life?

"Uh, are you sure you want to drive me?" Stark asked hesitantly. "You can stay. Pretend I escaped by myself."

Loki laughed in his face. "And what about the children who saw me taking you outside? What about Alvarado?" He scoffed, slapping Stark's hand away and jump-starting the truck. "I am just as deep in shit as you are, my friend." And he wasn't sorry. Not one bit.

They drove off.

* * *

When they reached the border between Juarez and El Paso, Loki felt strange.

"Well, we're here," Stark said quietly, not yet getting out of the truck. "Um, bye, I suppose. Thanks for all the fish?"

Loki nodded hollowly. Then he shook his head, clearing it from the haze that had overcome him, and reached into the glove compartment. He had to break it open, but he found what he was looking for, an old receipt. He took his pinky to his mouth, wetting it, and began drawing on the piece of paper with his spit.

"Oh, awesome, you've gone nuts," Stark muttered, grumbling. "Well, I'm going," he announced, opening the door. "I wish I would say it's been a pleasure—"

"Wait," Loki said, grabbing his wrist to keep him in, concentrating to finish the sigil.

Suddenly the old receipt turned into a driver's license, issued by the state of California, with the name and picture of Tony Stark.

"Here," Loki said, handing it over. "It will make your life easier." He could at least cross the border with that.

"Wha'?" Stark managed, taking it and examining it. "Holy shit, this has to be the best fake ID I've ever seen."

Loki found that stupidly amusing for some reason. "How do you think I get across borders so easily?" he asked, giggling.

Stark joined in as well, laughing like he had no cares in the world, like he hadn't spent the last two months of his life working for the people he had sought to enslave, in withdrawal, having nightmares and paradigm shifts.

Suddenly, out of the blue, Stark leaned over and kissed Loki.

It was rough, quick, scratchy, and it smell of vomit, but Loki couldn't move away.

Stark pulled away before Loki could react, opening the door. He hesitated only long enough to look at Loki and spit out, "I owe you one," almost reluctantly, before getting out of the car and slamming the door shut. He ran towards the checkpoint without looking back.

Loki rested his hands on the steering wheel and dropped his head on them, overwhelmed by an abrupt and quite unexpected sense of loss.

After a moment, he started laughing bitterly.

His plan had been to get Stark so enamored with magic and its users that he would never dare raise even a finger against them. He couldn't have foreseen he'd end up enamored back.

* * *

Loki waited in the parking lot of the checkpoint until he saw a helicopter arrive — a black man in military garb getting out and walking to a figure that could only be Tony himself — and leave again, taking Tony back home.

Then he turned on the old truck again and returned to base, feeling empty and wooden.

He bore Thanos's sermon, nodding at the appropriate places, sometimes flinching, and returned to his room.

His room. Which was his and his alone, once again.

All the various things Tony had collected during his stay — clothes, various rocks, children's drawings, a razor — were strewn about, mixed with Loki's own.

He didn't have the energy to move them, and he just flopped forward into the bed, his mind abuzz. He couldn't sleep that night, or the next. Tony's presence was all over the place, hanging around like a ghost.

On the third day, Loki packed two bags. One with Tony's stuff, one with his own. He said his goodbyes to Thanos, Alvarado, Russell and Cuccia, and left, carrying the bags with him.

He had no definite plan, but he had enjoyed teaching artificery. Perhaps he could do that, teach, maybe somewhere who actually needed him.

Like Doctor Strange had done for him.

At the border with El Paso, there was a map. Loki picked a city at random.

"Columbia, South Carolina, here I come," he grinned.

* * *

**AN:**

Considering only one person has deigned to leave a review so far (the other 3 left them while all the chapters were posted), I'm going to start holding updates hostage. So here's the deal: you get chapter 6 for the low, low price of 1 (ONE) REVIEW. Seems fair?


	7. Chapter 6

**AN: **As per out bargain, here is the next chapter! I knew you would understand! No Loki here, but you'll see him next chapter.

_MagiFan_: Indeed, she is that Izumi! Good catch!

* * *

Tony finished tightening the last bolt and ran his hand through his hair, mussing it up further. Well, that was one unfinished business completed — he was glad Pepper had left the disassembled engine alone and not, God forbid, hired someone to attempt to repair it.

"Sir, the coffee is ready," JARVIS announced.

"Oh, thank all fuck," Tony muttered, standing up and stretching. "I was starting to fall asleep waiting," he complained. JARVIS was still metaphorically walking on eggshells around him, and Tony enjoyed watching him fret about him to no end.

Besides, he enjoyed complaining. He hadn't been able to complain for months.

"So, how's the Stocks?" he asked aloud as he slid his mug under the machine. Coffee poured out into his mug, deep dark brown and smelling of heaven, nothing like the cheap watered-down crap they'd fed people in the camp back in Mexico. Which Tony didn't miss. Honest. "We must be down at least forty points."

"Fifty six point five, Sir," JARVIS answered.

'_Yeouch!_' Tony winced. "Well, it's only been one day," he excused, "it'll grow back." He sipped his coffee, scalding his tongue and not caring.

"The hashtag #freemagic, however, is number one on Twitter," JARVIS offered.

Tony laughed. "You sure know how to cheer me up, Bud," he murmured affectionately into his coffee.

JARVIS really was the best. He'd made sure Tony felt loved and welcomed by ordering him his favorite dishes and turning on his favorite comfort music, and he never asked about what had gone down in New Mexico, or why Tony had suddenly decided to commit financial suicide and close the entire weapons division.

Pepper had disagreed with the decision, giving Tony strange looks that said, clear as day, that she thought Tony had not so much walked over the line dividing genius and madness as he had jumped over it at a full sprint, possibly with added somersaults. But she was contractually obligated to take Tony's side, so she'd had to deal.

Rhodey had not been so enamored. Oh, no. He had phoned Tony about ten times, despite Tony not picking up, and come knocking on his door. When Tony finally shown him his face, Rhodey had yelled a lot of things, ranging from "You have a contract!" to "You are the best we have!" and "How are we supposed to fight the war in Afghanistan now? You're leaving them to die!"

Which, yeah, point. But still, Tony wanted nothing to do with killing people, or enabling other people to do it. So he had closed the door in Rhodey's face, told JARVIS not to let him in again, and returned to his garage.

"You know," he told JARVIS, hand hovering over the stash of liquor in the basement as he decided if he wanted his coffee Irish, "sometimes I wish Dad was still alive." He stared at the whiskey, at the perfect amber tint, and recalled how the asshole had made him drink a glass when he was only six. "There are questions I want to ask him. Like, if he was conflicted, if he ever had doubts."

He pulled away from the scotch. It was a hard decision, but the memory of the cold turkey detox helped. He hadn't realized he had become so dependent on alcohol until he had been forced to do without — maybe it was best not to pick the habit up again.

"Sir?" JARVIS asked. "Are you alright?"

Tony fancied his AI sounded worried, but no, it couldn't be. He hadn't managed to code actual emotions into his pet AI yet, though it was on his to-do list. "You see, J," he began, sipping his coffee for a dramatic pause that was lost on the AI, "I saw people being killed just for having been born with magic, with the very weapons I created. I mean, I knew it was happening, because, hello, I was making the weapons. _I_ was the one who sat down and wondered, 'How can I make this more lethal?'" He sat on a stool and sighed. "But it just never sunk in, you know?"

JARVIS was silent. Tony needed to code some commiseration into him, fast.

"Of course, you don't know how it feels. Being forced to see what I'd been turning a blind eye on." Tony scoffed, biting his lip and looking at nowhere in particular. "Mainly because you don't know what willful blindness is."

"I do know, Sir," JARVIS disagreed. "It's when I remind you that something you are doing violates safety precautions and you tell me to ignore it and not to mention it."

"Sorta like that, yeah," Tony conceded. JARVIS was smarter than he remembered. Maybe he had grown while he was away? "The point is, I had my eyes opened. And I saw that I had become part of a system that is comfortable with zero accountability." He gritted his teeth, remembering Nina and Terry, extrapolating the number of children that must have been killed in the same way while no one cared.

JARVIS was silent.

Tony wondered if it was because he had nothing to say at all, or because he wanted Tony to continue.

Then, he spoke. "Is that why you shut down all the weapon production, Sir?" JARVIS asked. "There was a thirty-four percent chance that you would close the Anti-Psionic production, but I did not even consider the possibility you might—"

"So you are not perfect," Tony interrupted. "No need to freak out."

"I apologize, Sir," JARVIS insisted. "I should have considered it. I could have proposed steps to mitigate—"

Tony cut him off with a laugh. "Cut it out, J, it's OK, really. I brought it upon myself." He shrugged, trying to downplay the fact that he'd just admitted something was his fault. "'Sides, most of the loss was Obie's fault." He hadn't forgiven him yet for leaving him for the wolves. "I've just realized that I have more to offer this world than things that go boom."

JARVIS didn't say anything for a moment. Tony could practically hear him processing. Then, after about ten seconds, "I take it you have a project in mind, Sir."

Clever boy. "You know me so well, Honey," Tony grinned. He tilted the mug of coffee up, drinking whatever was left, and put it down. "First of all, buy me quartz. Lots of it." He tapped the disc of quartz embedded into his sternum, its eerie blue glow visible through the tank top.

The thing, little as it was, had a lot of potential. He wondered if he could use something similar to power other sigils, which he could pre-make. How he would carry those around, he had no idea. Tattoos? Embroidered into his undershirts? He'd figure that out later.

Right now, he had magic to do.

* * *

Obadiah came to visit out of the blue some days later. How many, Tony didn't know; he had lost count, as the workshop had no windows, and he had little use for knowing the time, let alone the date.

Anyway.

Tony had been in the middle of trying out the new gadgets — repulsors for his feet, flight stabilizers for his hands, because what use was being able to harness magic if you couldn't use it to fly? — when Pepper came in and announced he had a visitor. So he had to go and clean up instead of testing out the prototype flight suit.

Then he came up, and spotted Obie and the pizza. "Oof, that bad, huh?" he asked, sitting down and examining the pizza. It was cold, but he suddenly realized he was ravenously hungry.

"Just because I brought pizza back from New York," Obie answered, not looking up from where he was playing the piano, "doesn't mean it went bad."

Like Tony would believe that for one second. "Uh-huh, sure doesn't." He still hadn't forgiven Obie for choosing profits over Tony's life, but that didn't mean he could eat his peace offers. He grabbed a slice and bit into it.

Obie finally stopped playing and turned to him. "Could have gone better if you were there," he announced, standing up.

Oh, no. Obie didn't get to blame Tony.

"Nope," Tony disagreed, shaking a finger at his father figure while eating the pizza. "You said to lay low, and that's what I've been doing." He reached for a napkin; the cold pizza was leaving trails of sauce on his beard. He shook his head to clear it of the mental image of Loki wiping it away. "Lying low, while you take care of everything."

"Oh, come on, _in public_," Obadiah explained, sitting next to Tony — with a glass of scotch and tinkling ice, the fucker. It was like he knew Tony was struggling to stay off alcohol, and then he went and paraded the sweet sight of it in front of Tony. "This was a board of director's meeting."

Tony paused in his chewing. "This w—" he did a double take. "This was a board of directors meeting?" he parroted. He hadn't known that. Fuck. Oh, no, that bastard. '_You did it on purpose_,' Tony thought at him, leaning back, looking him over. '_How long have you been doing this? Manipulating me, my trust?_'

"The board is claiming post-traumatic stress," Obie said, and was the stress on the 'the board' just Tony's imagination? "They're filing an injunction."

"A what?" Tony asked disbelievingly.

"They're gonna lock you up." Obie said it like it had been their idea and he disapproved but there was nothing he could do.

The thought '_It was probably his idea_,' crossed Tony's mind, resonating with the thousand other inconsistencies he could remember from his exchanges with Obie. "Why, because we're down 50 points? We knew that was gonna happen."

"Fifty six and a half," Pepper interrupted, apparently at the end of her tether. And here she had been biting her tongue quite nicely so far.

"It doesn't matter!" Tony said, glaring at her. "We own the controlling interest in the company."

"The board has rights too," Obadiah supplied, looking down and away when Tony turned to him.

How had Tony never noticed how shifty Obie—no, Stane—how shifty Stane was. No Obie now; Obie had never existed. He had only used Tony as his goose that laid golden eggs, keeping him leashed with suggestions and petting him on the head whenever he did something good. And Tony had allowed him, craving the approval, cherishing that he had someone who cared.

Here Tony had been all ready to forgive him for leaving him to die.

"They're making the case," Stane continued, "that you and your new direction aren't in the company's best interest."

"I'm being responsible!" Tony exploded, thinking, '_Are you really protecting the company's interest, or yours?_' "That's a new direction for me—for the company." He wiped his mouth, as bits of pizza had flown out, and chewed quickly.

Both Pepper and Stane looked at him as though they wanted to laugh. Like it was the single most ridiculous thing they had ever heard Tony say.

Fed up, Tony stood, taking the box of pizza. "I'll be in the shop," he announced, not wanting to spend another minute in Stane's presence.

"Tony, Tony," Stane called placatingly, standing up and walking after him. He grabbed Tony by the shoulder, making him turn.

Tony turned, face unreadable. Internally, he was screaming, '_Don't touch me!_'

"Listen," Stane said, in the same paternal way he's always used when giving Tony advice; a way that suddenly seemed nothing but unctuous to Tony. "I'm trying to turn this thing around, but you gotta give me something. Something to pitch them. Like that," he pointed at Tony's chest. "What is that?" His beady little eyes looked at Tony's Heartstone with greed.

Fighting the urge to slap a hand over his chest and cover it, Tony glared at him. He stood tall, hand on his hip, and managed not to bare his teeth. "No."

Stane opened his mouth to speak.

"No! Absolutely not!" Tony cut him off. "This one stays with me! That's it, Obie. Forget it."

"All right, well," Stane grabbed the box of pizza, pulling it towards himself, "this one stays with me."

Fine by Tony. Not like he was hungry anymore; the pizza he had already eaten felt like lead sitting in his belly, and about as poisonous.

"Go on, here, you can have a piece," Stane amended, opening the box for Tony. "Take two." He was pacifying Tony, like a toddler.

Tony took the pizza on principle, thanking him, because you never waste good pizza, but he couldn't help but think of the metaphor. Stane owned the pizza, even when it was nominally Tony's, and maybe, if he was in a good mood, he allowed Tony a piece or two.

God, Loki had really screwed with his head, hadn't he?

Tony left for the elevator, wanting to kick himself. He had managed not to think about Loki for three whole days, and now he'd done it twice in five minutes… That was pathetic. How could he miss the little venom-spouting snake already? Fuck.

"You mind if I come down there and see what you're doing?" Stane called after him.

'Yes, I mind,' Tony thought unkindly. "Good night, Obie." End of the conversation. He'd have to find a way to break free of Stane without letting him know that his act was up.

* * *

Over the following weeks, Tony was very busy.

He'd decided early on decided to make his flying machine a suit, since what fun was flying when he couldn't do it however high or fast he wanted, right? So he finished the first prototype. The suit was a thing of beauty. Sleek, aerodynamic, and very flattering, yes, but the beauty resided somewhere else: it was the perfect blend of technology and magic.

He had to combine two of the most powerful forces on Earth to do it, but he had done it. He'd made an armored suit that flew, powered by a miniaturized Arc reactor instead of magic-absorbing quartz because it drained so much energy. He had adapted the Arc reactor, which had been another feat of engineering entirely, to output magic rather than electricity, and now it steadily churned out ten times more thaums than the Heartstone provided.

Tony was completely in love with his new babies, and he couldn't stop admiring them.

At the same time, however, he'd had JARVIS quietly investigating Stane, looking for cause for dismissal. He'd only managed to find some odd things in his financials — like an offshore bank account in the Cayman Islands he hadn't known existed, bloated with money he didn't know where it came from. Was Stane embezzling? Tony hoped so.

Anyway, twenty four days since Loki had released him from being a hostage — possibly at the cost of his own life — Tony was ready to take his suit for a test trial.

He stood in his garage as robots, directed by JARVIS, assembled the suit around him, and put the helmet on last. "JARVIS, are you there?"

The faceplate flickered on. "At your service, Sir."

"Engage Heads Up Display," Tony commanded, watching excitedly as lights turned on right in front of his eyes, tricking his brain into thinking it was seeing in three dimensions. It was heady.

"Check," JARVIS announced.

Tony smirked. "Import all preferences from home interface."

"Will do, Sir."

The lights began homing in on objects, recognizing them. Little windows with specs or information opened up when Tony looked directly at something, as if there was a Wikipedia app or something installed. This must be how JARVIS looked at things — _amazing_.

"All right, what do you say?"

"I have indeed been uploaded, Sir," JARVIS confirmed in a bored tone, and Tony made yet another mental note to give his vocal modulator some emotional range. Next on the list, promise. "We're online and ready."

"Do a check on control surfaces," Tony ordered, grinning at his beautiful creation.

"As you wish," JARVIS replied, and began performing the checks.

Tony could feel the sheets of metal sliding over each other, could hear the clicks as everything snapped into place. God, but his suit was a thing of beauty. Not even Swiss watches had this kind of precision. He loved it.

"Test complete," JARVIS announced. "Preparing to power down and begin diagnostics."

Yeah, no. Tony would die, literally just drop dead, if he couldn't try the suit out right this second. "Tell you what, do a weather and ATC check. Start listening in on ground control." Because he was gonna fly, baby!

"Sir," JARVIS began, his voice sounding like a warning, "there are still terabytes of calculations needed before an actual flight is—"

"Jarvis!" Tony interrupted, his tone indicating he was about to drop a pearl of wisdom for JARVIS's own good. "Sometimes you gotta run before you can walk. Ready?" Rhetorical question. "In three, two," he assumed the take-off position, "one."

The repulsors and stabilizers flared to life, generating perfectly calibrated lift.

Giddy, Tony took to the skies with a cry of joy. "Whoooooo!" he screamed, exultant, twirling in the air above Malibu just because he could.

Was this how birds felt? Like the air was their servant and gravity their bitch?

"Handles like a dream," he told JARVIS, because it did. It moved like the perfectly oiled machine it was. He made a loop or two around the city, getting acquainted with the feeling of perfect weightlessness — it was better than swimming — and then shot straight up with another "Whoop!"

This was his calling. Not weapons. Not killing people. Making gorgeous, amazing machines.

* * *

The next — and last — time Tony talked with Obadiah Stane was at a benefit gala, hosted ostensibly by Tony himself.

It had really soured his mood, coming home and finding he hadn't been invited, especially when he learned the reason why. According to the reporter, Tony was 'bedridden' with PTSD and had been for weeks.

Three guesses as to who had fed that lie to the media.

Naturally, Tony cleaned up, dressed in a suit and drove there, wanting to give Stane a piece of his mind.

He was nowhere to be found.

Tony went inside, gravitating towards the bar by force of habit. He ordered scotch before he'd realized it, and decided to keep it. Surely he had enough control over himself to drink responsibly, right?

He was interrupted by a soft, polite "Mr. Stark?" before he could sip it.

Tony turned towards the speaker, not quite finding him at first. "Yeah?" he asked, sipping his drink — he almost spat it out again as soon as it touched his tongue. It was disgusting. The taste, the texture, the burn.

"Agent Coulson," the man introduced himself. The dude was nondescript and unassuming; balding, dressed in a cheap, ill-fitting suit.

Amazingly, Tony recognized him. Had seen him hovering around Pepper at the press conference when Tony had announced the new no-weapons policy. Speaking of, where was Pepper? "Oh, yeah, yeah, yeah," he murmured dismissively, scanning the crowd for her. "The guy from the..." He foundered. He couldn't remember who the guy worked for.

"Strategic Homeland Intervention, Enforcement and Logistics Division," Agent Whatever finished for Tony.

What a bootlicker. Also, what a mouthful! "God, just call it S.H.I.E.L.D., man," Tony commented, forcing himself to taste another sip. Still repellent. He used to be able to drink a whole bottle straight from the neck, and now he couldn't handle two sips — oh, fuck, had his time among the witches turned him into a sissy?

"Yeah, I hear that a lot," Agent commented, still with his pleasant, professional smile on his face. "Listen, I know this must be a trying time for you, but we need to debrief you."

Riiiight. As if Tony was going to tell all the secrets of MAGI to the agency that ran the Magic Counter Unit. Tony turned away pointedly, scanning the crowd for either Pepper or Stane.

"There's still a lot of unanswered questions," Agent was still going on, "and time can be a factor with these things..."

Oh, that chick in the blue dress with no back had the same hair color Pepper did. Only, Pepper would never wear something like that.

"...Let's just put something on the books. How about the 24th at..."

The girl turned and Tony stopped listening, because holy fuck, yes, it _was_ her! "Tell you what," Tony cut Agent off, offering him his hand. "You got it. You're absolutely right."

The man looked at it as if he had never shaken hands with anyone before, but he took it with a surprisingly firm and warm grip.

"I'm going to go to my assistant, and we'll make a date," Tony continued, getting off the stool. If Agent said anything, Tony didn't hear it, busy as he was leaving the scotch on the bar and walking towards Pepper.

She seemed surprised to see him; surprised enough that Tony managed to con her into a dance.

Goddamn it, she was pretty. Tony hadn't seen anyone this pretty since Loki, and Pepper was kind, completely lacking Loki's cruel streak and rotten mood.

The dance, with added flirting, lasted perhaps half a song before Pepper remembered where they were and who was there with them, and started hyperventilating

Tony took her outside so she could have her minor freak-out away from the public eye, and listened as she went on about how everyone knew what Tony was like with girls and about being seen as a tramp that'd slept with the Boss to get where she was. He reassured her as best he could, because if there was one thing he didn't regret, it was hiring Pepper.

Then, unexpectedly, she leaned closer.

Tony leaned with her, thinking she was going to kiss him, because she really was the prettiest woman in the world, and also an angel who stuck with him through thick and thin, and if she wanted to kiss him then maybe Tony wasn't such a screwed up fuck. Maybe Tony could make this work.

At the last moment, Pepper reconsidered, pulling back. "I'd like a drink," she said instead, taking her hands from Tony's shoulders, looking away.

Yeah. Tony wasn't worthy of a woman like her anyway. As far as ways of telling him to fuck off went, it was the simultaneously the gentlest and the most brutal Tony had ever experienced. He took the way out for what it was. "Okay," he accepted, pulling away.

"I'd like a vodka martini please," Pepper added, her voice strangely hard, like she was reproaching Tony for something. "Very dry. With olives, lots of olives."

Tony nodded. "Okay," he said for lack of anything else to say, and went inside.

He was waiting for the bartender to come back with Pepper's drink and his own — also a martini because maybe that would taste better — when someone spoke to him.

"Wow. Tony Stark."

Oh, yeah. Tony remembered that voice. He particularly remembered how it dripped with passive-aggressive disapproval. "Oh, hey," he greeted.

"Fancy seeing you here." She stood next to him without invitation.

Tony tried to remember her name. '_Come on, brain. Reporter chick, Vanity Fair, Brown. Name..._' "Carrie," he tried.

"Christine," she corrected.

Tony nodded. "That's right." Aaaand now she was offended. Awesome.

"You have a lot of nerve showing up here tonight," she started.

Grimacing, Tony leaned away, averting his gaze. So not in the mood for this. Her comments from the last time they had met still smarted, especially after he had seen for himself how true they were.

"Can I at least get a reaction from you?"

"Panic. I would say panic is my reaction," Tony muttered, glancing towards the bar. Where was his bartender? Couldn't he see Tony needed to leave?

"'Cause I was referring to your company's involvement in this latest atrocity." She shook her head, eyes narrowing at him. "I actually almost bought your press conference, hook, line and sinker."

Well, that was... Not what Tony had been expecting. "Uh, I was out of town for a couple months, in case you didn't hear," he said defensively.

"Is this what you call accountability?" Christine exploded, cutting him off, handing him a stack of pictures.

Tony grabbed it reflexively and looked down.

Desert. Tanks, weapons. Death. People holding other people at gunpoint.

"It's a town called Gulmira, in Afghanistan. Heard of it?" The accusation in her tone was clear.

"No." Tony frowned, moving the top picture to the back of the stack.

It revealed the second one. Men in turbans and tunics, lugging around equipment. A closer look revealed it was Stark Industries equipment, the boxes they used to ship out weapons.

Tony inhaled, his eyes widening slightly, and looked at the next picture for confirmation.

They had a Jericho missile.

How did they have a Jericho missile? Tony had been scheduled to demo them in about three months before he had refused to sell another weapon. They had never even _been_ on the market. They should all have been destroyed! "When were these taken?" he asked, his voice somber.

"Yesterday."

What? Tony looked up at her, eyebrows raised. "I didn't approve any shipment," he said honestly. Hell, he hadn't even been to S.I. since he got off that helicopter.

"Well, your company did," she accused.

And Tony knew who it was. He didn't even need three guesses. "Well, I'm not my company," he retorted, glaring, and took off to find Stane.

He found him at the entrance, on the red carpet, talking to reporters and photographers.

Tony approached him with a fury. "Have you seen these pictures?" he whispered angrily, shoving them in Stane's face. "What's going on in Gulmira?" he demanded.

"Tony, Tony," Stane started in his most patronizing tone, grabbing Tony by the elbow and pulling him away, out of the range of hearing of the reporters. "You can't afford to be this naive."

Tony could kill him right there. Strangle the hell out of him. "You know what? I was naive before," he growled, standing on a higher step on the stairs so he could meet Stane's eye, "when they said, '_Here's the line. We don't cross it. This is how we do business._'" He shook his head. "If we're double-dealing under the table... Are we?"

Stane gave him a good long look, as if measuring Tony's worth, as if evaluating if the goose of the golden eggs wanted to fly free.

Tony stared back at him, hard, letting him know just how far he had fallen from grace.

"Tony, your picture, please!" some reporter called.

And, just like that, Stane was all smiles. "Let's take a picture. Come on," he told Tony throwing an arm around his shoulders and hugging him. "Picture time!" he announced to the reporters.

Tony played along, his mind racing as the bulbs flashed in his eyes.

"Tony. Who do you think locked you out?" Stane murmured into his ear, his fingers digging into Tony's shoulder possessively. "I was the one who filed the injunction against you."

'_I knew it_,' Tony thought, jaw clenching. His hand remained half-heartedly around Stane's waist, even though it felt like it was covered in septic slime. Tony was nothing if not a showman.

"It was the only way I could protect you," Stane explained, but his oily, unctuous tone left it clear that even he didn't believe it. No. He was mocking Tony. Stane clapped Tony on his shoulder in the same condescending way he'd always used after giving Tony advice or reassurance, smiled for the cameras one last time, and left.

And Tony stood there, frozen, his mind going back to every time Stane had done the same thing, lubricating Tony with a few kind words and a pat on the head. To every time that Tony, starved for affection and approval, hadn't realized just how deeply he was being fucked.

* * *

Tony returned home at a loss that night, not knowing what to do, or even how he felt.

He couldn't sleep, so he went to the workshop. When he was there, he couldn't concentrate. He would spend whole minutes at a time staring at nothing before shaking his head and continuing to work on adjusting the new model of the suit.

At some point, he gave up on finishing anything and plopped down on the couch in front of the TV, a gauntlet still on his hand, screwdriver in the other.

The news was on.

"_The 15-mile hike to the outskirts of Gulmira can only be described as a descent into hell_," the reporter was saying, while a caravan of dejected and dirty people paraded behind her. "_Simple farmers and herders from peaceful villages have been driven from their homes, displaced from their lands by warlords emboldened by a newfound power._"

Yeah. Tony knew what that newfound power was. _His_ weapons. His _killing machines_. The ones that he had sat in a lab one day when he was bored and thought up because 'Eh, could use more boom', or 'Maybe I'll add some shrapnel too, to at least cripple the enemies who don't get killed.'

He clenched his jaw, staring at the screen.

_"Villagers have been forced to take shelter in whatever crude dwellings they can find in the ruins of other villages, or here in the remnants of an old Soviet smelting plant_," the reporter continued in her no-nonsense voice. "_Recent violence has been attributed to a group of foreign fighters referred to by locals as the Ten Rings._"

The screen showed the clips they had been showing since the news broke out over and over. Gunshots. People lugging weapons around. The Jericho, thankfully still not deployed.

Tony glared at the screen, tightening a screw in the middle of his forearm until it hurt. He turned his eyes away for a moment, considering his gauntlet. The flight suit could be weaponized so easily...

"_As you can see, these men are heavily armed, and on a mission. A mission that could prove fatal to anyone who stands in their way_," she continued, her voice resonating in Tony's head like a gong. "_With no political will or international pressure, there's very little hope for these refugees_."

Unable to bear sitting still for one more second, Tony stood up and walked slowly around the room. He tossed the screwdriver carelessly onto the counter of the little kitchen section, satisfied by the loud _tink_ sound it made.

"_Around me, a woman begging for news on her husband, who was kidnapped by insurgents, either forced to join their militia_—"

Tony pointed the gauntlet at his workshop, the birthplace of so many ideas for weapons, and fired.

The explosion was also very satisfying. The destruction was amazing. The reinforced concrete went up in a cloud of dust, the metal of the ceiling lamps bent and crumpled.

He grinned.

"_Desperate refugees clutch yellowed photographs_," the reporter continued, "_holding them up to anyone who will stop. A child's simple question_,'_where are my mother and father?_'"

Tony liked her, the reporter. She spoke a bit poetically, but with no accusation. Just facts. And yet, all he could hear was '_your fault, your fault, your fault_' over and over. He looked up and saw his reflection in a pane of glass.

Look at him. Safe and sound, surrounded by luxury, making a toy to fly, while the people whose lives he had ruined paraded endlessly in front of a camera, their suffering exposed for everyone to see.

He_ hated_ him, the person he saw in the reflection.

"_There's very little hope for these refugees, refugees who can only wonder who, if anyone, will help_."

Tony fired the repulsors again, shattering the glass, extinguishing his reflection. Then he turned and fired again, and again, and again, until he was breathing hard, standing in a sea of debris.

It wasn't enough to stop making weapons.

No. He needed to stop sitting passively and waiting until everything he had screwed up righted itself again.

He had to take action.

* * *

The magic-improved armor made its first appearance the next day, killing terrorists in Afghanistan and giving Gulmira back to its people.

Or, rather, that was what the public saw.

They didn't see how the man in the tin can razed the whole operation to the ground, giving the leaders of the Ten Rings to the people — the same people they had threatened and raped and exiled from their homes at gunpoint — for a little just desserts, or how he blew up every single piece of Stark Industries equipment.

They didn't see how, over the following weeks, the superhero they had nicknamed 'Iron Man' found and destroyed every single cache of Stark Industries weapons owned by anyone other than the army for which it had been intended.

In the aftermath of that, the arrest of one Obadiah Stane for embezzling of military funds and war profiteering passed nearly unnoticed.

* * *

**AN:** Since it worked so well last time:** two** reviews total from any of you sweethearts and I'll add chapter 7. Since this story is already written in its entirety, the pace of the updates depends entirely on you.


	8. Chapter 7

**AN:** yay! now I know why so many writers hold their fics hostage ;P I knew you had it in you, dear readers.

* * *

Soon after cleaning up all of Stane messes, Tony decided to retire from being CEO of Stark Industries.

Clearly, he wasn't doing a good job. Even worse, now he had a hobby that he actually cared about: using the Iron Man suit to help civilians.

It was a sweet deal, actually. Pepper got the raise Tony had been trying to give her since he came home to find her there, in the airstrip, waiting for him with a car and a smile. Stark Industries got a CEO who was actually interested in doing CEO stuff and who didn't listen to dubious advice from assholes like Obadiah Stane. Tony got to be a superhero and invent stuff in his spare time.

Of course, it meant that Pepper could no longer be Tony's PA, so they had to find him a new one. And since nothing in Tony's life was ever straightforward and simple, the new PA, Natalie Rushman, turned out to be something between a spy and a talent scout.

An agent of S.H.I.E.L.D., from the MCU division, apparently sent by the vague yet menacing government agency itself to assess Tony's capabilities, mental stability, and commitment to the cause.

How did he know?

Not JARVIS, because JARVIS was a soon-to-be-donated failure of an AI who didn't perform exhaustive enough background checks on the new people in Tony's life.

He knew because Agent Coulson told him so when he and Nicholas Fury, the director of S.H.I.E.L.D. himself, came to his house to invite him into their super-secret boy band, the Avengers, formed by elite agents of the MCU and whoever was special enough to qualify.

To which Tony responded by telling them to please let the door hit them on their way out.

He would never raise a finger against another innocent practitioner of magic, even if they didn't know it. It would be quite hypocritical of him to hunt down those who used magic by using magic himself.

Since the secret of Tony being Iron Man was already out to the people he'd been trying to hide it from, namely S.H.I.E.L.D., Tony decided to come out to the world as the dude in the high-tech tin can.

It wasn't just his desire to be acknowledged that drove him, although that played a big part. It wasn't even that he wanted the whole world to know that Tony Stark was a changed man, that he had gone from war-profiteering to looking for redemption.

Tony wasn't just announcing that the foremost weapons designer was the same person who had created a manned flying weapon of mass destruction; he was threatening anyone who would dare tough a single hair on the heads of those who couldn't defend themselves.

By admitting to being Iron Man, he single-handedly privatized world peace.

Of course, some people didn't like that Tony was a one-man nuclear deterrent, and tried to take his suits. To confiscate it and _mass produce _it. As if! The suits were _Tony's_ brainchild, and no one but him would ever get to even lay one of their grimy fingers on their gleaming surfaces.

They retaliated by claiming that people all over the world were trying to replicate it, making it seem like they were succeeding, and so Tony _must_ allow them the schematics so "America can defend herself."

Tony replied by hacking the cameras and showing the footage of the so-called 'successes', which actually were rather the opposite: miserable failures, all of them. Including the current weapons contractor working for the US military, Hammer Industries. He also made it _very_ clear that the suits worked by integrating magic into the design, and surely the US military wouldn't be so hypocritical as to _want_ people using magic just because it served their agenda, right?

He made damn sure to state it publicly, too, for another reason: to let everyone know that Tony Stark — genius, billionaire, playboy and philanthropist — used, and_ liked_, magic.

Pepper yelled at him when she found out, threatened to quit and dump the responsibilities of being CEO back on him. Not because he had inadvertently come out as a magic user to the people whose job description was 'glorified witch-hunter', but because he had hidden the magic from her.

Tony brought her a crate of strawberries to her office as an apology, and she tossed them at his head.

The MCU returned to pestering Tony, this time to cuff him, while the public followed the story with avid eyes. It was the first time someone so high-profile was implicated in the use of magic; it would set the precedent for future generations.

Tony loved setting precedent.

He refused to be registered on the grounds that he didn't have a drop of magic in his blood above the legal limit of ten thaums — past which one officially stopped being a Zero and they became a Number — and also on the grounds that the practice of enslaving people for having a genetic predisposition for magic was inhumane and it should cease immediately.

The ensuing debate killed twitter servers in the first hour after it started. Religious people gathered in front of Houses and began protesting that they should be killing the witches, not keeping them as pets, quoting the scriptures. Internet petitions began cropping up for laxer registration and non-compulsory service for Number over rank three. Newscasts began calling on so-called experts to question them about what freeing magic would bring to their country.

Suddenly it seemed everyone was talking about whether magic should be free or not.

Except Rhodey. Rhodey didn't want to talk at all.

Which, ouch. Tony was still smarting from Rhodey's reaction to his magical coming out party — or rather, the lack thereof.

Their friendship had survived countless jiltings on Tony's part, ubiquitous and chronic nagging on Rhodey's part, Tony screwing the chick Rhodey was interested in, and Tony's company stopping production of weapons. But Tony using magic, even if it was to save his own life, to save the lives of innocents he himself had put in harm's way? Oh, no. Not that.

So, yeah.

Tony couldn't say he hadn't been expecting it. The only person who hadn't left him yet was Pepper, and that was because Tony had guilt-tripped her into running his business. Everyone left eventually — because, what would they ever stay for? — so he had learned to push them away first.

What smarted was that Tony cared; that Rhodey had made him care, had let him believe they were sort of friends, only to drop him like a hot potato the second associating with Tony became inconvenient. What smarted was that Tony had believed he deserved more than a cold shoulder.

So Tony threw himself into supporting magic users. He founded a non-profit organization that would help abused Arcanists be removed from their Houses or leasing arrangements, secretly donated to a well-established society that smuggled unregistered magic users to countries where they could be free, and began pushing for more ethical legislation, even going as far as to appear on talk shows to take his message to the public.

And if the bottles of various liquors he still hadn't had the heart to throw out beckoned him more loudly every passing day... Well, no one wanted to know, did they?

hr /

One day about a month after that, Arcanists leased to the University of South Carolina revolted, cutting off their cuffs and barricading themselves in the Carolina Coliseum, inviting every cuffed and uncuffed muser in the city to join them.

State Arcanists were considered property of the State — valuable property — and legally the act constituted hoarding of resources. Even if the 'resources' were technically hoarding themselves.

To be fair, the local law enforcement did attempt a peaceful negotiation, in which they offered the warlocks full immunity if they came quietly and allowed themselves to be cuffed, since they hadn't actually committed any crime other than going AWOL.

They responded by threatening to kill the students, professors and everyone who might still be on campus if the state continued not to recognize their basic rights as human beings.

The FBI came to take charge of the situation, setting a perimeter, establishing lines of communications.

Further talks led to nothing. The students and professors were now officially hostages.

The MCU began swarming around and setting up camp for the long haul, bringing in tactical teams armed with the few AP things Stark Industries still produced as compromise for all the contracts Tony had broken: the nonlethal Deadlock line.

But, as soon as they used them, deciding to take them by force, everything went to hell.

The military had thought that the musers had been the ones organizing everything, and that when they dropped them the normals would run out in droves.

They couldn't have been more wrong.

As soon as they attempted to infiltrate the building and recapture the magic users, the students joined in, with bricks, boiling water, Molotov cocktails, homemade tear gas, and everything else they would get their hands on.

The MCU pulled back.

Normal people, students, in their naive idealism, were defending the rights of the magic users tooth and nail, on national television, which meant that the situation was now a mess of catastrophic proportions.

If the military, holding with their policy of no-tolerance for warlocks, razed the whole campus to the ground to make an example, then the students became martyrs, and the government true disregard for human life would show through, encouraging more revolts. If they complied with the demands and allowed the warlocks to walk free, it would set the precedent, also encouraging more revolts.

This meant that the only solution was to find a way to deal with the musers alone in a peaceful way, and then decimate them out of sight of the general public.

When the siege of the University of South Carolina had been officially underway for three days, Colonel Rhodes proposed sending in Tony Stark, who had become the staunchest supporter of magic rights, and get him to parlay.

Tony arrived in Columbia in his suit, landing near where JARVIS told him Rhodey was. He left it parked there, not even bothering to close it since it wouldn't turn on for anyone else, and asked for Rhodey.

The MCU regarded him with fearful, resentful eyes, but allowed him through, taking him to his ex-friend.

Tony grinned as soon as he saw Rhodey's face. "Well, hello there, Damsel in Distress!" he greeted amiably, just the barest trace of anger in his voice. "Finally resigned yourself to the fact that you can't live without this pretty face, honey bear?"

Rhodey's face twitched in annoyance, but he gritted his teeth and answered, "I'm glad you could come," in a professional tone, offering his hand for Tony to shake.

Tony reminded himself, rather savagely, that he didn't care, and put on his media smile. "No problem, Colonel." He shook Rhodey's hand, making sure not to squeeze it like he wanted to, because, no, Rhodey couldn't know how much the loss of their friendship affected Tony.

He didn't deserve it anymore.

So Tony dropped his hand and surveyed the small room filled with bigwigs of every major agency in the US. "S'up?"

They nodded at him warily, and waved him over to the table where they were sitting. Spread upon it was a print-out of a satellite image of the whole campus, and a computer with several files open.

Tony blinked, unimpressed, and crossed his arms expectantly.

Rhodey took that as the cue it was, and began explaining. "The spontaneous militia that has taken the University comprises between fifty and sixty magic users, and it is led by a man who calls himself Harry Potter."

Tony snorted explosively, startling everyone in the room. He almost wished he had been drinking something so he could have sprayed everyone. "Seriously?" he asked, shoulders shaking with mirth.

Rhodey arched an eyebrow. "Yes, seriously," he deadpanned, his tone making it clear that he did not appreciate the needless interruption.

Well, it wasn't like the fact that the leader of the rebellion had styled himself after a famous literature wizard — who had also been the leader of a rebellion against an oppressive regime, look at that! — was relevant. Tony was just amused that he had caught the reference, having just finished reading those books no more than a week ago.

What? Not his fault he was starved for good literature that dealt with the subject of magic without any bias. The fact that that kind of literature was forbidden as hell only sweetened the deal.

"Good to know," Tony said at last. "Lemme guess, the second in command is a Ron Weasley, and we also have a Hermione Granger, a Neville Longbottom, and a Luna Lovegood?" He smirked, loving that he was in on the joke.

The military guys shared a somber look, and then turned their accusatory gazes to Tony.

Rhodey's eyes narrowed. "How do you know those names?" he demanded. "Have you been in contact with them?"

Oh, really. What would be next? Would he accuse Tony of funding them or something? Tony rolled his eyes. "Never met them before. Swear on Dad's grave." The corner of his mouth twitched. Only Rhodey knew him well enough to know where Tony thought Howard should shove his grave. "They are the names of characters in a book, is all," he explained, crossing his arms. "Tell me more."

Rhodey's hard stare — like_ Tony_ had done something wrong — remained on Tony a few moments, telling Tony that he was not going to let that go, before flitting away. "There are nearly three thousand people on campus right now, ostensibly as hostages, but allies to the cause in practice."

Huh. "How are they feeding these people?" Tony wondered out loud.

"Who cares?" a lump of humanity in a military uniform asked from the corner. "They probably ain't feeding them anything, the unnie witchers."

Tony narrowed his eyes at him and made a mental note to find a way to get him retired without honors. "I care," he challenged, because, hell, someone had to. If not the institution that was sworn to defend and protect the citizens of the United States regardless of gender, size, religion or skin-color, then Tony. "You haven't been feeding them at all?

That shut them right up.

Except Rhodey. "Actually, that's a good idea," he mused, eyeing Tony speculatively. "We can ply them with food. Make them agreeable."

Tony nodded along. "Yeah, and some medical supplies too." Because, oh yeah, there had been an actual bloody fight three days ago.

"Tony here can deliver it," Rhodey finished, gesturing expansively to him.

"Wait, what?" Tony blurted out, blinking at Rhodey.

hr /

Three hours later, ten trucks filled with food and medical supplies were parked just across the street from the Coliseum, waiting to be picked up.

Tony had bought everything, wanting to ensure things would be of at least some quality, and the military underlings had assembled it in portions, and those in boxes, because hell if Tony would do grunt work when he was already paying for everything.

He was sitting in the driver seat of the first truck, twiddling his thumbs. He had made sure to call ahead and chat with 'Harry Potter' to tell him what was what, and the man had sounded relieved at talking with him, relieved that they had at least one of the powerful people rooting for them.

The campus was deserted, with good reason, so every movement caught Tony's eye. So far, every time had been a false alarm, but this time, when he looked up, he saw the doors of the Coliseum open, a line of people streaming out.

Leaving the suit behind had been a requirement, as assurance that he would be powerless, so Tony stepped out of the truck in jeans and a t-shirt, hands in the air, to greet them.

He was summarily turned and pushed face-first against the vehicle. Whoever had done it began patting him down.

"Whoa, hey, assault, I'm calling assault!" Tony yelled, squirming. "Buy me a drink first, you rapist."

Something cold and hard was stuck into the fleshy underside of his jaw.

Tony shut the fuck up. He would recognize a riffle nozzle anywhere on his body, after that one time in the R&D labs, with an engineer with a gunplay kink. Fun times.

Then, someone said, "Oh, leave him alone, you artless thugs," in a very familiar exasperated drawl.

And Tony froze.

If Tony had bothered to compile a list of all the people he hadn't been expecting to see here, Loki would have been at the top, above Madonna and the Russian president.

Although, in retrospect, it made perfect sense.

Because why else would a bunch of perfectly well-behaved — Tony hesitated to use the word 'cowed' in light of recent events — Arcanists suddenly get ideas of freedom and self-determination and, worst of all, act on them just like that?

The gun nozzle retreated.

"Lemme guess," Tony said, pushing away from the truck and turning around to see Loki standing there in jeans, a turtleneck, and an unbuttoned flannel shirt over it, "your codename is 'Grima the Wormtongue'." He was ridiculously happy to see the grumpy bastard.

Loki scoffed. "Of course not." He arched an eyebrow. "I'm Dumbledore."

Tony reigned in a snort and nodded. "Right, the magnificent bastard pulling on all the strings and taking everybody to school," he observed, and the grin finally broke out on his face. "It's good to see you, Albus." He offered Loki his hand.

Grinning back, Loki shook it. "It's good to see you too, Tony," he replied, more warmly than Tony had been expecting.

Wait. 'Tony'?

His confusion must have shown, because Loki's eyes flitted to Tony's as if checking if he had noticed, widened slightly, and then darted away.

Tony was flabbergasted. "Um..." he started, looking at everything but Loki.

The warlock cleared his throat, resuming his professional façade. "Well, what are we waiting for?" he asked loudly, looking around at the men that had accompanied him.

"Yeah, leave the happy reunion for later," one of them called, opening the door of the truck. He was blonde and tall, with narrow shoulders and little muscle. Under the scruff and the horned rimmed glasses covering his face, one could see he was too old to be a student — a warlock, then, like Loki.

Two men — or rather, kids, judging by their apparent age — pushed him aside. "Leave us, Teach, we can manage."

Huh. A professor?

"That is Bradley Upton," Loki told Tony in a low whisper. "He teaches some of the beginner chemistry courses. The MCU knows him as Remus Lupin."

Tony turned towards him, looking 'Remus' up and down. "You gotta be kidding."

Loki shook his head. "Those two," he pointed at the kids — probably no older than twenty — who had insisted on helping, "are Brock Moore," he pointed at the one with dark hair, "and Winford Mitchell," he pointed to the other one, who, surprise, did not have red hair, just mousey brown." He grinned mischievously. "But you know them better as Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

"Uh, Albus," Tony interrupted him before he could divulge more names, "I'm barely going to remember their aliases, don't even bother with their actual names." Maybe. It was more likely that he'd just end up calling them Glasses, Mole and Mousey.

"Hey, lovebirds, are you going to help or what?"

Tony jumped, startled, and his head swiveled until he found the source of the calumny and slander. "Lovebirds?" he parroted under his breath, even as he moved to help carry the boxes inside. "Is that the best he can come up with?" he asked Loki, sounding extremely unimpressed. "Where did you find these minions, the discount pile?"

Loki shook his head. "Shut your vile, pestilent mouth, Tony Stark," he replied, eyes shining with amusement, before handing over a box of medical supplies and biting his lip. "It took me some time to convince them to rebel against the system," he murmured, voice raw with honesty. "They were like cattle, content with their meager alms."

Tony nodded, grabbing the package and waiting until Loki got hold of his own to follow him. "I know the feeling."

It was something he had discovered on his own, as a fighter for magic rights: the saying 'people resist change' didn't only apply to those benefitted by the current system. The Arcanists he had talked to were, well, not happy with their lots in life, but they had been successfully brainwashed into thinking things should be as they were, that magic users should be oppressed and used by zeros to level the scales, because hey, they had magic, and zeros didn't.

Very few of them agreed that the system was barbaric, and even fewer agreed that it should be changed for the better. Most simply said something along the lines of "Well, at least were not in Soviet Russia/North Korea/Rwanda," or any place or time in history where magic users had been cruelly abused.

They walked into the Coliseum, carrying the boxes, people going out to get more boxes as they came in. Some of them actually thanked Tony for the food, which was nice, and a few asked for his autograph. Some things never changed.

Then again, some did.

People looked at Tony with approval. Especially the magic users, who were easy to distinguish by their lower-quality clothes and their generally paler demeanors. They looked at Tony like he was their savior.

And, damn it, it felt good.

He turned to Loki as they walked out for trip number two. "Uh, people _like_ me now," he observed, shielding his eyes from the bright sun with his hand. "That's a nice change."

Loki actually smiled at him for that, and it looked blinding in the sunlight, his teeth so white it must have been the result of a spell. "How could they not," he replied, "when you have done much for them?"

Tony stopped, heart skipping a beat, and suddenly he remembered that embarrassing moment months ago where he planted a wet one on Loki. "Of course. Makes sense they'd love me for not trying to kill them anymore," he snarked, but then realized it might as well be true.

Sometimes it seemed everyone in the US was out for blood when it came to magic users, like it was the default mode. Any time someone broke with the indoctrination and didn't do or say unkind stuff to an Arcanist, it stood out like a beacon.

Loki, also standing still, clapped his shoulder. "You have done more than that. You have started a paradigm shift in the younger minds of this country." He smiled proudly.

His hand slid off, but Tony still felt the warmth, the weight of it on his flesh as if he had been branded. "You think?" he asked, not sure whether to actually believe Loki or if the warlock was just buttering him up with his silver tongue. God, he wanted it to be true so hard.

"I'm plenty sure," Loki replied. "Thanks to you, magic users will have their rights fully recognized in another generation."

Fuck if that didn't lift a huge weight from Tony's shoulders. Finally, he had done something right in his life. "You too." He gave Loki an easy grin and clapped his upper arm a couple times. "Give yourself some credit."

The students, or Arcanists, whatever, had formed a human chain coming from the back of the truck, and were passing the packages down the line. It was clever, seeing how there were so many packages to be passed, and Tony and Loki joined the line.

"I do give myself credit," Loki murmured after a while of tossing boxes for Tony to catch and toss to the next person. "I changed the mind of the one man who could single-handedly do the same to an entire country."

That stopped Tony short, mind reeling.

What if Loki hadn't saved Tony out of some sense of debt for almost ruining his life as a child? What if he had actually planned the kidnapping, the second almost-death, and helped Tony to have him indebted to him? What if he had used the entire MAGI to teach Tony a lesson, purposely putting him in contact with kids, tempting him with knowledge? What if he had pretended to be Tony's friend and got close to him so Tony would trust him and listen to him?

What if Loki engineered the whole thing? What if he'd used Tony to further his cause?

Tony missed the next package, and it landed on the floor with a loud thump, but he didn't care. "You son of a bitch," he managed between gritted teeth when he remembered how to breathe, hands clenching at his sides.

Hands he had only realized were bathed in red thanks to Loki; hands that he was only now wiping clean _thanks to Loki. _

Tony tuned to Loki with watering eyes, and swallowed hard. "Y-you..." he started, frowning, not knowing how to continue. He felt lost, adrift. Just when he thought he had found himself...

Loki gave him a sidelong glance, face unreadable. "Yes, I used you," he admitted easily, waving a hand at the package on the floor so it would continue down the line. "I manipulated you." Without looking, he caught the next one, and passed it along to Tony.

He grabbed it, snarling, and did the same automatically, passing it along. "Why did you tell me?" he demanded. "I was perfectly happy believing my change of heart was _my idea!_" And fuck, that was what hurt the most. He hadn't had it in him, after all, to be good, to _do_ good. His eyes stung.

Looking away, Loki answered, "You would have worked it out eventually." He sighed. "I decided it would be best to open your eyes early, while I was still here to prevent you from misunderstanding."

'_Bastard_'. Tony clenched his jaw, and said nothing, deciding that Loki could go and fuck himself on his explanations.

Another package came and went.

Loki said nothing. He didn't even look at Tony.

Finally, Tony had enough. "Misunderstanding what?" he asked in a small voice that came out more broken that he had intended it to. "You manipulated me. What's there to misunderstand about that?" he spat.

Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Loki rolled his eyes. "That. That is it, exactly." He caught the next box. "You think I planted the idea in your head. That I somehow brainwashed you." His voice sounded tired, as if he'd been through this enough times that it had become old. He passed the box along.

Tony received it and did the same. "I'd call it mind control, actually," he challenged.

Loki snorted. "Oh, if only." He chuckled darkly. "My life would be so much easier if I could just plant a command in someone's mind." He shook his head. "No, I have to rely on getting to know my marks and then slowly gaining their trust so I can use what my knowledge to manipulate them."

He was just like Obadiah. "You are disgusting," Tony muttered, unreasonably hurt. What, had he thought he was the only person special enough to warrant Loki's little games?

Loki caught his eyes again, giving him a slow, long look.

Tony matched it angrily, looking back at him hard.

Another incoming package broke the staring contest, leaving them unwilling to meet the other's eye after it passed.

At last, Loki murmured. "I know. I'm a bit of a monster, and it has nothing to do with having magic. But you are missing the point."

What was the point, Tony wondered. That he was a bit of a monster too? He said nothing, though, merely avoiding Loki's eyes pointedly.

"I couldn't have manipulated you into doing good if you did not have any capacity for it in the first place," Loki growled darkly.

Tony gave in and glanced over.

The warlock's jaw was jutting out, his teeth bared, and he was scowling slightly. His hands tightened, and he looked incredibly frustrated.

He had a point, actually. It wasn't like Loki had, like, blackmailed him, or threatened him, or even tricked him. He had just made it so Tony was in the right place at the right time and in the right frame of mind to see.

Tony blinked, his mind catching up with the present fast enough for him to notice the next package. He caught it at the last moment, when it had almost crashed to the ground, and passed it along, before looking quizzically at Loki.

The warlock saw that Tony was looking and turned his eyes away, moving jerkily to and fro, like he wanted to do something but wasn't sure if he should. Sheepish. The he sighed, his shoulders relaxing, and licked his lips. "I knew, from the moment you found me in that cell as a child, that you had the capacity for greatness." He shook his head slightly, chewing on his lip.

Tony waited patiently until he found his words, even though a voice in his head told him not to listen, that Loki's words were more effective than any spell in getting him what he wanted.

"I made keeping up with you a bit of a habit. I knew from what I saw in the tabloids that you had taught yourself not to care," Loki explained, sounding hollow and small, passing the next box to Tony mechanically. "I knew that you _would_ care, sooner or later, that your eyes would be opened all at once, and that it would destroy you when it happened."

"Uh-huh. Right. So you decided to help me out of the goodness of your heart," Tony deadpanned. "Because you love me that much." Yeah, right.

Loki let out a cruel laugh, looking at Tony with derision, his lip curled into a sneer. "No. Because, as it happens, you are the perfect spokesperson for magic rights, with the added benefit that I knew you would cease production of weapons even if you didn't take up the cause, making it easier for my people to move against yours."

So Loki wasn't entirely selfless, after all. Well, what else was new? At least Tony's bid for redemption had been his own idea, and his mind was still his own, in a way. Loki knew him scarily well, if he could predict his reactions with such accuracy. But the fact remained: Loki had only chosen Tony as the object of his manipulations because he'd trusted Tony to be a decent human being.

Loki did have faith in Tony, after all. Even if his faith had started a lot earlier than Tony had guessed.

Tony nodded. "Okay," he said simply.

The warlock raised his eyebrows. "Really? Just like that?" He grinned hesitantly.

Tony glared at him. "Don't push your luck, Saruman," he warned, half joking and half dead serious. "Okay, you did right. You pwned me, and I admit it." He pointed at Loki accusingly, narrowing his eyes. "But don't think for one second I'll believe any word you say from now on."

Loki smirked, sniggering. "Fair enough, Stark," he accepted.

They remained there, eyes locked on each other's, for the space of a few minutes, Tony thinking about how weird it was that Loki knew him well enough to predict how Tony would dance when put on a string and he'd used that knowledge to make Tony happy about furthering Loki's cause. Quite the win-win situation, now that he thought about it.

Then he realized they had been staring at each other for like five minutes, and frowned. "No more packages?"

It startled Loki out of his own reverie. "Oh!" he exclaimed, looking around. "It would seem so. Shall we?" he asked, gesturing in the direction of the main doors of the Columbia Coliseum.

"Sure thing."

They walked back, Tony keeping slightly away from Loki because he couldn't stand to be in his presence so soon after his worldview had been changed — again.

Because sure, he got Loki's point. Didn't mean he had to like it.

Everyone in the building, warlocks and zeros alike, had congregated in the halls and classrooms, distributing the packages around evenly, some sitting patiently while others opened them and started spreading the contents around.

Loki and Tony joined a group of people sitting on the ground in a circle.

Tony recognized Lupin, Potter and Ron Weasley. Oh, must be the VIP crew, then. The ones who ran the ship.

Loki decided to spend the time as they waited by pointing out other people, calling their aliases.

It was good, neutral smalltalk, so Tony played along, laughing when appropriate, like when 'Draco Malfoy' turned out to be a visibly posh kid, speaking with his nose in the air, or when Loki pointed out a couple of twins, both red haired and freckled, and said they were called Gred and Forge.

Loki yawned, making Tony sympathy-yawn.

"Someone's tired," Tony commented, grinning with far too many teeth. He couldn't help enjoying finding flaws in Loki.

Loki yawned again, his time into his hand, scowling.

Someone to Tony's right, a petite woman with black hair, dropped sideways with a mild thud, fast asleep.

Her neighbors, also girls, laughed at her, before doing the same, slumping against each other before losing balance and sliding to the floor.

Suddenly, everyone was dropping like flies, falling over in a dead sleep.

Tony, with sudden, crawling realization that froze the blood in his veins, turned to the boxes of food with trepidation.

It was barely visible, but it was there. Some kind of light mist was coming out of the box, visible more like a heat mirage than anything else. Now that the sound in the room had mostly ceased, a low, almost inaudible hiss could be heard.

A hand clamped like a vice grip around Tony's wrist, hurting him, and he turned to look.

Loki was on the floor, giving Tony a hard, punishing look. "You..." he started, his mouth slightly agape as he fought to speak, "traitor." Then his face slackened, and his head slumped to the floor, his grip on Tony's wrist loosening.

"No! Wait!" Tony shouted, feeling dizzy. "It wasn't me, I swear!" The world tilted suddenly, something cold against his temple, and he discovered that he had lost his balance and fallen sideways. He held onto Loki's limp wrist. "I was tricked," he insisted in a quiet slur.

God, his eyelids felt heavy.

Rhodey had used him too. He'd called Tony in to solve the situation, and then rigged the boxes of food and medical supplies with sleeping gas without telling him.

Shit, was there no one Tony could trust?

The world went black.

hr /

Tony woke up in the makeshift MCU facility some hours later, feeling like he had eaten a mouthful — or ten — of cotton wool and shivering slightly.

Everything came back to him at once and he sat up, almost falling over because, God, the nausea.

He managed to stave it off long enough to his feet, and then he fell to the floor on all fours, retching. Nothing came out, of course, as his stomach was empty, but he still felt like he had been punched in the stomach, and he breathed hard a couple times.

Then someone was there, picking him up, helping them onto the hard infirmary bed.

Tony went without protest, because he would really welcome being horizontal for next few moments, at least until the world stopped moving under his feet.

"You did well, Tony."

Rhodey.

Tony almost sat up again on principle, to punch him, but settled for pushing his hands away very violently. "You fucker, I hate you," he growled, feeling suddenly hot, his eyes stinging. "They trusted me," he cried, recalling Loki's broken expression in those last few moments and smashing his tightly clenched fist into the mattress at his side. He needed to break something ASAP, preferably Rhodey's face.

"I know," Rhodey nodded, not even trying to deny it. "It was the perfect chance. I'm sorry we tricked you, but you wouldn't have gone through with it if you had known."

"Damn right," Tony grunted, glaring at him. The asshole wouldn't even meet his eyes. "I hate you," he repeated, with feeling, just in case Rhodey hadn't caught it the first time around.

Rhodey didn't say anything for a while, simply standing there in picture-perfect military posture.

Tony turned his head away, not wanting to look at him, not wanting Rhodey to see him cry. It wasn't just that Rhodey had used him and tricked him, or that Loki thought Tony had betrayed him and all the movement he was trying to start.

The whole world had known Tony was the one delivering the food and medical supplies — the whole world would think that Tony had betrayed the movement he himself had begun. They'd think Tony filled his mouth with words like "equality" and "inalienable rights", and then, when he needed to put his money where his mouth was, he betrayed everything he had been fighting for during the last four months, choosing to help the abusive government over the people who needed defending from them.

They'd think Tony was a hack, and a liar, or even worse, that his change of heart was nothing more than a phase.

"We recovered every Arcanist, and cuffed nine unregistered magic users who had joined the revolt," Rhodey said evenly, cutting off Tony's pity fest. "As well as the fugitive Loki Olson."

Tony swallowed thickly, still not looking at Rhodey.

"The State Arcanists, old and new, will undergo re-education before being reincorporated into Houses," Rhodey continued in a dull, informative tone, like he was just talking about the weather instead of slaves. "Loki Olson will be leased to the MCU for the testing of new anti-psionic weapons."

That made Tony drop his act. "What?!" he demanded, sitting up, ignoring the wave of nausea to glare right into Rhodey's eyes.

Rhodey held his gaze for as long as he could, before giving into the onslaught and sighing, his posture breaking. "None of it was my decision, Tony," he admitted bitterly. "Not even the sleeping gas." He shook his head. "I tried, I swear."

"But you have orders," Tony finished for him, looking away too. Fucking feelings. "Did they order you to stay away from me too, or was that brilliant idea yours?" he asked before he could bite his tongue.

Rhodey flinched as if he'd been slapped. "You dropped the contracts, Tony!" he shouted, even though Tony's ears were like two feet from him. "I was running around like a headless chicken, fixing your mistakes!"

Tony flinched, and then looked up, scowling, standing his ground. "You could have called," he huffed.

"So could you!" Rhodey exploded. Then, in a quieter voice, he explained. "You drop the contracts, you tell the whole world you do magic, you start opposing the laws..."

"They are barbaric," Tony interjected, crossing his arms, daring Rhodey to disagree.

He didn't. He merely heaved out a huge sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose in the gesture of someone trying to stave off a headache. "They are barbaric," Rhodey agreed, letting his hand fall. "But you can't drop everything without a word of warning because you suddenly grew a conscience!"

The corner of Tony's mouth twitched up. Yeah, point. He looked up at Rhodey and down again, looking for all the world like a chastised child.

Rhodey sat down next to him, and they stared at the wall in complete silence. Then, after a while, he muttered, "I'm sorry for not calling you," through gritted teeth.

"Apology accepted," Tony replied, his feet swinging slightly over the edge of the bed. He bit back a grin, knowing Rhodey was expecting him to reciprocate.

After a few seconds of silence, Rhodey kicked Tony's feet sideways and laughed. "This is the part where you apologize for being an irresponsible asshole and making my life hell."

"Is it?" Tony asked, turning his head and raising an eyebrow at Rhodey. His mouth was tilted into a teasing smirk.

Rhodey grabbed Tony in a headlock and giving him a noogie before releasing him. "Apology accepted," he said, keeping his arm slung across Tony's shoulders.

Smiling faintly, Tony hugged Rhodey around the waist with one arm. "I love you too, honey bear." He said it like he was mocking him, but, fuck, he meant it.

Rhodey pushed him away. "Shut up!" he laughed, shaking his head. Then he jumped to a stand. "Well, let's go."

"Uh, go where?" Tony enquired, tilting his head slightly.

"To save your man, of course," Rhodey laughed, before taking off.

Tony sputtered. "Wha—what? He's not—! Rhodey!" He ran after his friend. "He's not 'my man'!"

* * *

**AN:** Not to shabby, huh? We finally get into the meat of the story :D You know the drill, two reviews = one chapter. It may come tomorrow, as I have to sleep now :S but it WILL come!

Also, for some reason I'm not getting ffnet emails, so I have to check the fic every couple hours like an idiot to see if you've commented just to keep my side of the bargain. *headdesk* Am I the only one not getting emails? You _are_ getting the chapter updates, right?


	9. Chapter 8

**AN: **you can thank MagiFan for bitting the bullet and taking one for the team.

* * *

As soon as Loki woke up, he felt it.

The emptiness. The feeling of abandonment that came of reaching out to a universe that did not reach back. Everything was duller: colors washed, borders fuzzy. There was the feeling of something like wool in his ears, and he couldn't hear right.

It wasn't dark. Holding cells in the lower levels of the Houses rarely were.

This wasn't to say there were welcoming, not at all. There was a cleanliness to the place, an impersonal coldness. Surfaces were kept spotlessly clean, every single bar of every single jail perfectly chromed, reflecting the lights overhead painfully into Loki's eyes.

Metal, chill, recycled magic-free air, the dizzying buzz of the artificial lights. All of it was artificial; it resisted the taint inherent to human existence.

A laboratory, an operating table, perhaps; a House, but never a home.

Loki looked around calmly, more familiar with the impersonal place than anyone should really be. He inhaled deeply, and regretted it: there was no pleasant tingle of life and magic in the air. Instead, it smelled merely of disinfectant and human misery.

Listless, he looked down at himself. He had been changed into a green-yellow overall while asleep, which, while expected, left him feeling rather violated. The rough cloth caught and rubbed against his skin, making it itchy. He raised his hands in front of his face and looked them over. They felt as numb as he felt inside; anesthetized. Hands that had felt the currents of magical energies, however minute, as keenly as the best scientific instruments; hands that had grasped them like threads and woven them to his will, now felt nothing but the cold air around them.

And at his wrists, burning like brands, the cuffs.

Was this what normal humans felt like all the time? How could they live, so blind, so deaf, so numb?

He grabbed the jewelry, fingernails scrabbling at the cuffs in a vain attempt to pull them the fuck off. The metal hurt everywhere he touched it, draining and freezing cold, like nothingness pressing against his skin. It hurt, it _hurt_. His fingernails, or perhaps the furious tugging, drew blood, but the jewelry was clamped on too tight to come off his hand, even with the added lubrication.

Loki gave up after a few minutes, when the mad hysteria passed and he still could not get the things off his wrists. He'd done this song and dance a couple times now, but one never got used to waking up with every connection to the living breathing energies of Mother Nature suddenly cut off.

The cells faced the wall of the corridor, so Loki didn't have a front neighbor. Better — there was no one to witness his slow descent into madness.

Feeling immensely tired, Loki dropped sideways onto the narrow cot, and tried to get some sleep.

* * *

Five hours of dizziness and a mounting headache later, two guards came.

They took him to the showers, where they had to undress him and push him into the spray of not-yet-warm water, as he was rather a bit catatonic. He wasn't about to help them pretty him up for potential leasers, unlike he had done back at the orphanage on Adoption Day. But the water felt good on his body like it seldom did and he began enjoying it. The warmth and the feeling of water trailing down his skin like magic, only denser and less ethereal, comforted him greatly.

It was the singular perk of being neutered: he could be under running water and not feel weak and powerless as his magic was washed away. There was a reason MAGI had more bathtubs than showers back in the makeshift camp in Ciudad Juarez.

The guards pulled him out after ten minutes exactly, taking him naked and dripping to the medical officer's office, where he was examined for imperfections. The doctor, a hard-looking woman, dabbed at the sores under Loki's cuffs with rubbing alcohol and then bandaged them perfunctorily with the ease of long practice.

Apparently having been given the stamp of approval, she reached for the tattoo needle and waved Loki over to the chair.

Loki didn't move.

The guards did, grabbing him by the upper arms and dragging him over to it. They sat him down painfully.

"There is no need, really," Loki said calmly, voice hollow with apathy.

The doctor let out a bark of laughter. "Do you have any idea how many times I've heard that?" she asked, arching an eyebrow at him as she mixed the ink.

Loki had to admit he approved of how unfeeling she was about the whole thing. It could be worse; after all, she could be enjoying it. "I doubt any of those who said it meant it." He let his head drop forward and moved his still damp hair out of the way, baring the back of his neck to her. "It may be a bit faded, as it is some eighteen years old, but it's there."

The doctor paused in her preparations, setting everything down and walking over. Her cold latex-covered hand replaced Loki's in holding his hair away and she hummed at what she saw. "Huh," she grunted. "Pass me the scanner," she told one of the thugs that had dragged Loki in there.

Loki waited patiently, rolling his eyes. What did she think, that he had tattooed a barcode on the back of his neck purely for aesthetic purposes?

The scanner beeped, and she said "Huh, it's legit," apparently seeing what Loki had known she would see: his conviction file. "Loki Olson. Why do you still have the number?" she asked as she moved away, setting the scanner aside. "I would have thought you would have got rid of it as soon as possible."

Rolling his head to get his tired neck muscles to behave, as his head felt like it weighed a ton, Loki replied, "My past makes me who I am."

And nothing had marked him more than being caught and leased out to Stark Industries for them to perform experiments on. It was there that he had truly experienced the callous disregard of people, experienced being nothing to them just because of his magic. Hell, even the rats had been treated better than he.

It was there that he had experienced the misery of not being allowed to die when he very much wanted to, the desperation to be free from suffering. It was there that he had learned just how cruel he could be, when he had used — and almost killed — a child to escape, to save himself, pushing that boy under the water to keep from drowning.

"And who are you?" the doctor asked, sitting on the chair in front of him.

Loki grinned darkly, his narrowed eyes focusing on hers. "Your worst nightmare," he said casually, completely convinced it was true.

For even though he had been captured, and even though he could foresee nothing but pain in his future, he had already won. The news of what had happened in Columbia, of Stark's and the government underhanded betrayal, would have spread all over the country by now, tipping the debate in his movement's favor. It may not happen for a year, or for five, but magic would be free, magic user's rights would be recognized.

And then the people's thirst for blood would turn against those who had hunted witches, those who ran the Houses, and those who had perpetuated the cruelty without batting an eyelash. Like her.

The woman chuckled dismissively. "Are you, now?" she drawled mockingly. "You are a rank, what, three?"

Three point five, actually, but Loki wasn't about to tell her that. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't see the whole board. His smile shark-like in its sharpness, telling her he knew something she didn't. "You'll never see it coming," he crooned, winking.

She laughed some more, probably believing it to be an empty threat, and patted his head like she would a dog who had just done an amusing trick. She turned towards the two thugs. "This one is already in the system. Take him back to his cell, boys. And do something with his hair, will you?"

Loki complied easily, standing up and walking towards them with no fight.

They grabbed him by the upper arms and turned to escort him to his cell.

"Oh, by the way," the doctor said, twirling a pen in her hand. "You are being leased out to the Magic-Combatting Unit." She winked.

The smile washed off Loki's face, and he shivered slightly in the grasp of his captors. He swallowed, closing his eyes, preparing himself for what was to come; knowing, in his heart, that he would be ordered to help capture his brethren.

* * *

Loki spent three days in the cell, waiting.

He counted the times the lights turned off — plunging him into the most absolute of darkness, for he didn't even have his magic to help him navigate — as 'nights', and he dreaded and hungered for them in equal measure. The darkness meant a respite from the harsh lights, but it also meant complete silence, as the buzzing of the fluorescent tubes was the only source of noise in the place, and it left Loki alone with his own thoughts and the sound of his blood rushing through his veins, stroking his newly-shorn hair for lack of anything else to feel.

New guards came in every of the four rotations of the day, always in pairs, which meant he couldn't charm one of them or trick them into setting him free. Each time, they brought him slop for eating, which he mostly ignored, and a new pitcher of water, which he always drank greedily. Once a day, they then escorted him to the showers, changed his bandages, and delivered him back to his own special waiting room for Hell.

He had fallen on the last serving of slop like a famished dog, though, which brought bad omens, as it meant his body was so starved of energy that it wanted to get it everywhere it could.

Loki had always been sensitive to magic withdrawal.

His nights were riddled with a dizzying array of nightmares, palpitations, and episodes of hyperventilation, and yet he couldn't seem to do anything but lay on his side, curled up in a fetal position, and try to sleep. Even if he hadn't been terribly tired, he wouldn't have got up, as his head ached like he had a chronic bad hangover.

Everything ached, really. His joints had begun feeling like they were full of needles around the second night he had spent there, and he had woken up that morning barely able to move. His armpits throbbed, as did the sides of his neck, the back of his knees and the joints of his hips, lymph nodes slightly swollen. They were clogged with magic produced by his body with nowhere to go; it was unable to leave his chakra coils, circling the system again and again, getting stagnant and sick.

And even worse that all that, than the loss of his magic and the deterioration of his body, was that he had brought this upon himself, upon all of them. He had counseled Moore to allow Stark into their barricade, trusting him blindly because he had thought he knew him.

Had it all been an act on Stark's part, too? Had he pretended to be repentant for his crimes, to seek redemption, only to gain Loki's favor and make sure Loki would protect him? Loki had underestimated him, clearly. He had thought himself so clever — to have a man, a mind, like Stark eating from the palm of his hand, hanging onto his every word, seeking his approval — that he had been blinded to equal manipulations on the other man's side.

And to think he had allowed himself to become fond of him, recalling Stark's parting kiss, a stolen moment in a warzone, with rueful affection.

Stark had shamelessly exploited that trust, that regard.

A man after Loki's own heart.

He was there, lying on his cot on his side, burning with fever and thirst and pain, when he heard three — no, four, the clicking heels had covered the other man's — sets of footsteps.

Someone had finally come for him.

"Yep, Loki, that's the one. I bet he's been giving you a ton of trouble." Stark's voice.

Of all the people the MCU could have sent, the chose the one that would drive the knife deeper and twist it ruthlessly.

Loki sat up at once, fighting to keep his eyelids open, fighting not to show any weakness. He combed his hair — curling and matted — back with his fingers, ignoring how oily and brittle it felt, attempting to get it into some semblance of order. He would not allow Stark to see just how low his machinations had brought Loki.

"No, actually," someone else said, one of the guards, "he's been suspiciously well behaved."

Of course he had been. What did they think him, a common thug who didn't know when he was beaten? No, Loki wasn't the kind to waste his energies fighting needlessly. He was like lightning, acquiescing first, knowing he was trapped, waiting patiently for the path of least resistance to manifest itself — and only then did he strike.

The group came to a stop in front of him. There were the ubiquitous two guards and a red-haired woman, but Loki only had eyes for Stark.

"I don't think chartreuse is your color, dude. Really washes you out," Stark said for all greeting.

Loki glared daggers at him. Ah, if only his looks could still kill... but no, he was neutered. "Do you come to mock, Wormtail?" he asked.

Stark had the gall to look offended, and sputtered.

The woman leaned over and asked in a whisper, "What did he call you?"

The room was so silent, and Loki's ears so starved, that he heard it perfectly.

Not taking his eyes from Loki's, Stark whispered back, "Nothing, it's a private joke." Then, in a louder voice, he said, "Just get over here, Voldemort. Look, you're even bald and everything. I'll take you to your new home."

That gave Loki pause.

That Stark had cast him as the villain of the Harry Potter books came as no surprise, particularly after Loki's revelations to him, and the recent exposure of Stark's true nature. But to cast Loki as the villain, after Loki had just cast Stark as said villain's most important ally? The one who had lied and betrayed his friends for him? The one who sought out, rescued, and nursed said villain back to health, in secret, when no one else would help him?

Was Stark trying to send him the message that he was actually trying to help? Maybe Loki was reading too much into it. Maybe Stark was using his knowledge of forbidden literature to re-endear himself to Loki.

Loki was too ill to decide. So he stood with as much grace as he could manage with his head swaying under its own weight, and staggered over to the bars right in front of Stark, grabbing them to keep from falling sideways, or worse, to his knees. "The more things change, the more they stay the same," he commented darkly, standing tall and looking down intensely at his personal Judas through curtain of oily clumps of hair.

He was referring, of course, to the first time they had met, when Tony, as a child, had set him free from his cell.

Stark grinned, matching Loki's gaze even though he had to tilt his head back slightly. "Sorry, don't have any lipstick on me this time," he winked. "But, if you want to have the full déjà vu experience, I can always get you a straightjacket."

"Tony, what?" the redhead asked, sounding painfully confused.

Loki fought against the smirk that wanted to take over his face, and lost the battle over the right side, the corner of his mouth twitching up minutely. It was amazing, really, that he knew this man to be his bane and yet he still found his wit compelling.

Stark must have noticed, because his grin turned genuine.

Shaking his head slightly, Loki allowed his eyes to turn to the woman. He stared at her, impassively, taking in her high heels, her white designer suit, her perfectly coifed hair.

She looked out of place in a building as ugly as this one. But even Loki's heavy, judging stare didn't faze her enough to make her visibly nervous.

Loki's eyes flitted back to Stark's. "Is she to be my new master?" he asked. He was rather curious, as she didn't look like she belonged in the MCU.

Stark tilted his head from side to side, as if Loki's answer wasn't wrong, but wasn't entirely right either. "Close, but no cigar," he said, and slid an arm around her shoulders, pulling her close. "Loki, meet Virginia Potts. You are being leased out to her."

Loki recoiled as if he'd been slapped, his hands dropping from the bars of his cage as though they were red-hot. And he felt rather pale. "The CEO of Stark Industries," he breathed, aghast, unable to help remembering the last time he had been leased to S.I., way back when. He looked down, head spinning. "I see."

Not the MCU. Even worse. He had thought pain awaited him? He had been wrong, dead wrong. Oh, how he wished that what was in stock for him would be something as sweet as pain...

"Loki!" Stark shouted.

Startled, Loki looked up, meeting Stark's eyes — '_How did I fail realize just how formidable this man is?_' — and immediately looking away. "Yes?" he asked, tentatively grabbing onto the bar again.

"Are you OK?" the woman, Potts, asked, her fake concern looking remarkably genuine.

'_No_,' thought Loki.

"Relax," one of the guards interjected, "he's healthy. It's a trick they all pull, trying to look sick so they won't be leased out." He was grinning at Loki's discomfort.

"When do we leave?" Loki asked, voice small and broken, head hanging.

"Uh, how about right now?" Stark suggested. "Come on, he's harmless, open the door." He moved aside to make room.

Loki didn't complain, even though he wished to. Even though he wished to run and hide under his cot. Stark had the right of it, he was harmless without his magic, would be until his body became accustomed to the lack and he was able to control it as normal. Protesting would only delay the inevitable.

"You haven't signed the lease contract yet," the other guard commented.

Stark rolled his eyes. "Oh, come on. We're all grow-ups here—"

"That's debatable," Potts murmured under her breath, giving him a pointed look.

"—you can give him to me and Pepper here can go sign the lease while we wait in the car," Stark finished enthusiastically, completely ignoring Potts's comment.

The guards looked at each other and shrugged. They parted, one of them joining Potts, escorting her outside, her stilettos clicking ominously on the polished tile, and the other opened Loki's cell, chaining his cuffs together and presenting Stark with the leftover chain.

A leash. A Cold Iron leash.

Stark took it and began walking.

Thinking '_No, no, no, no, no_,' Loki followed him.

They walked in perfect silence, other than the clinking links of the thin golden chain.

Every neutered magic user they passed looked at Loki with pity in their eyes.

The sun outside was baking hot, and the humidity meant that Loki's hair stuck to his skin like a blanket. He had to narrow his eyes under the intense glare, made all the worse by the sensitivity of his tissues, enhanced by the lack of magic.

There was a car parked outside the door of the House, and a man walked out, rounding it to open the door for them.

Stark laid a hand between Loki's shoulder blades and shoved him forward.

Obligingly, conscious that Stark was the one who held the other end of the leash, Loki got into the car.

It was blessedly cool, and he relaxed into the comfortable seat, exhausted.

Stark didn't get in, though. He closed the door and waited outside, leaning on the metal frame of the car.

Deciding to conserve his energy, Loki curled up and fell into an uneasy sleep.

* * *

Loki woke when the car pulled to a stop.

Or rather, Stark woke him up, shaking his shoulder in a way that could only very generously be termed gentle.

Loki blinked his eyes open and then had to shut them tightly again, whimpering quietly, the radiance of the sun far too bright for him. He blinked a couple times, getting used to it, and squinted up at Stark. "What is it?"

Stark didn't answer at first, looking wide-eyed at Loki, swallowing thickly. "We're here," he said at last, voice strangely hoarse, and then, alarmed, cleared his throat. "We're here," he repeated in his normal voice, which still held none of the hate for Loki or hardness it should.

"Here," Loki parroted, throwing his hand over the edge of the seat, pulling himself up. He peered out the window.

The building certainly didn't look like any Stark Industries facility he had seen; then again, he hadn't seen many, so perhaps it was normal for them to look like airports.

"That's an airport," Loki observed, sitting up fully. He had to brace himself on Stark's thigh when a dizzy spell hit him and nearly toppled him over, but the man didn't seem to mind him. Breathing hard, head still spinning, Loki looked around. "Makes sense. I don't know of any S.I. facilities in South Carolina."

Stark startled at that. "Facilities?" he asked, blinking, and pushed Loki up into a sitting position where he wouldn't unbalance easily.

Loki's head was too heavy for him to hold up, so he let it loll back against the top of the backseat, and regarded Stark out the corner of his half-lidded eyes. "Yes, facilities. Why else would Potts acquire me, if not to test their devices on me, as your father did?" He didn't mean for his trepidation to come out quite to starkly in his voice, but there was nothing for it.

No magic, weak as a new-born kitten, barely able to think. He was too vulnerable. Felt too vulnerable. Maybe playing to Stark's pity would be better in the end. Appealing to his humanity had worked well before.

"What?" Stark exploded, ungluing himself from the seat to turn to examine Loki. "No, no, no," he denied, emphatically waving his hands in front of him. "No. Okay? No testing. No nothing."

Maybe it was Loki's slow thoughts, but he felt absurdly confused. "Then why—why lease me? I am I to be your trophy? A souvenir of your time as a prisoner of the terrorists?" Damn it, his eyes were stinging. Was he tearing up?

It was Stark's turn to be speechless. His mouth opened and closed a couple times, eyes flitting around as though he were looking for an appropriate lie to tell.

"Tell me!" Loki demanded, voice breaking. His hand, still on Stark's knee, clenched weakly in the fabric of his trousers.

"No, okay?" Stark exploded. "No relic. No trophy. Definitely no lab rat." He leaned into Loki's personal space, holding his eyes, as it he desperately wanted Loki to believe him.

Loki shook his head slightly. He didn't believe that. "Then why? What was the point of tricking me into letting you inside so you could drug everyone?" He bit his lip. He hadn't meant to say that. Well, to hell with it. "Why plan to capture me if not to exact revenge on me?"

"No, Loki, no revenge. No betrayal, okay?" Stark shook his head slowly, looking away. "I... The sleep gas was not my idea. I had no idea you were there, by the way." He poked Loki's side rudely. "Could have told me. I thought it sucked that three thousand people were stuck with no food, and if I was gonna referee the whole thing, I was gonna make sure you were all fed. They hijacked the supplies and filled them with sleeping gas."

Oh, right. Stark hadn't known Loki was there. Stark had greeted Loki amiably, no resentment clear in his voice or posture. As far as Stark had known upon coming to Columbia, Loki had been his ally.

Loki let out a huge sigh, daring to smile. "Thank you for your consideration," he deadpanned, even though he meant it. Stark had meant well, at least. He hadn't tricked the rebels out of some misguided attempt for revenge. That still didn't answer the question, though. "But why buy me?" Oh, his head was swimming.

Stark let out a bark of laughter. "It was Pepper's idea, actually. She said we couldn't repay everything you did for me with slavery." He shrugged. "We bought you to set you free. My private jet is waiting there," he pointed at the airport, "ready to take you wherever you want."

"Pepper?" Loki asked, recalling the name from what Tony had talked about while in captivity. "The redhead, Miss Potts, she is Pepper?"

Stark grinned. "Damn right she is. Isn't she the prettiest, smartest woman in the world?"

Loki couldn't help the sudden dislike he felt for that woman. Tony's cherished secretary, who managed to get Tony to name her CEO of his company, who had him eating out of the palm of her hand. How had she managed to sink her manicured claws into Tony's heart so quickly? "She seemed capable," he conceded, still burning with anger that Tony should associate himself with a person who was so obviously using him.

Stark gave him a strange look. "Uh, well. Anyway." He leaned forward to reach under the front seat, and withdrew a slim metal briefcase. "Here, look." He opened it, tilting it towards Loki.

Managing to get this spinning head under control, Loki raised his head and peered down, seeing a two sets of keys — one golden, one silver — and a pair of shining silver cuffs. "These?" he asked, clumsily reaching out to touch them. Feeling an odd texture to them, he picked one up and raised it to his face.

It was encrusted with precious stones, and it had an inscription on the side. '_Loki — Property of Stark Industries._'

Loki found the joke, if joke it was, falling short. "I am not a pet you can keep collared," he warned, pushing the jewelry into Stark's chest and looking away. "I'd rather wear this," he gestured at his lime-green overalls, "than willingly humiliate myself by wearing your name on any part of my person."

"Are you sure?" Stark asked, clearly amused. "Because these," he stroked the cuffs lovingly, "are a work of art. They are platinum, you see, not Cold Iron."

If Loki was a cat, his ears would have perked up at that. '_Not Cold Iron?_' He watched Stark's face for any trace of deception. "I'm listening."

Stark grinned. "These babies don't restrain magic. I mean, sure, they look like very pretty cuffs, which means no one will attempt to catch and register you while you have them on, but they are actually an artifice." He got out a small magnifying glass, passing both it and the cuff to Loki.

There was sygaldry in this? Loki took them both and sat up through immense effort, examining the stones he had taken to be precious stones because of their setting in the fine jewelry. They were actually quartz. Smoky quartz. Loki looked at Stark, a question in his eyes.

"Go ahead," Stark invited, the smug smile not quite gone from his face.

A look through the magnifying glass revealed a minuscule sigil in each of the stones. The same one, over and over. A mass produced sigil, carved with — probably literal — laser precision into the stone.

Loki recognized that sigil. It was the same one that Stark had on the disk of quartz in his chest. Being so tiny, they would draw magic at a very slow pace, not making the quartz glow much. But having any reservoir of magic at his disposal, one that couldn't be taken from him, would be invaluable. "How much magic can these hold?" he asked, returning the glass to Stark, but not the cuff. Not yet.

"Not much. A bit under four hundred thaums each, at full power." Stark shrugged, as though the fact that they could hold any magic at all wasn't already fantastic. "I had to pick nearly clear quartz, or else it would glow too much and give away the secret. I had to modify the sigil, too, to make it small enough, and use laser cutting to carve it, which cut the power by about a third."

Would it be worth it, wearing Stark's claim on his person, wearing his tacky jewelry like an expensive whore, in exchange for the magic and the protection from the law the fake cuffs would bring?

There was no two ways about it.

"...and I chose platinum for the setting," Stark was still rambling, "because gold was so tacky, stupidly forgetting that silver is best for magic—"

Loki presented Stark with his cuffed wrists, cutting him off. "I accept," he announced with all the ceremony and solemnity of a president receiving office.

Stark seemed pleasantly surprised, and was quick to grab one of the golden keys. Holding Loki's wrist in a way that could only be called delicate, he worked the left cuff unlocked.

Loki's heartbeat quickened in anticipation as the man who legally owned him slowly, gently, began opening the cuff. The feeling of clean natural energy trickling into his body and washing out the stagnant magic was divine, and Loki moaned in pleasure, arching his back into the seat and simply enjoying.

Stark laughed at him, seeming vaguely uncomfortable. "You like that, huh?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, his tone reminiscent of artless dirty talk in a bad porno.

The wizard could only blush, slapping Stark's hands away to wrench the cuff completely off, tossing it away. "You try living four days with magic festering inside you, and then tell me what it feels like to get rid of it," he snapped, more embarrassed at his reaction than angry at Stark's ribbing. "Do the other one," he demanded, thrusting his other arm under Stark's face.

"Ooh, pushy," Stark teased, grabbing it and coming at it with the other gold key. "I like it," he winked, before turning his attention to the lock.

Licking his lips, Loki watched him work, watched his concentration focused on setting him free. He was still blushing, breathing slightly more labored than usual, and he couldn't help but feel Stark's calloused fingers hot and tingling against his wrist. How much magic did the stone that powered Stark's heart bring into his body, that Loki could feel the sparks through the simple contact of skin on skin?

A few heartbeats later, there was a click as the cuff unlocked.

Stark pulled it open, taking it with him.

Loki managed not to moan this time, only by virtue of not being able to breathe. He couldn't help the way his back arched, or the shiver that wracked his body as he felt the wonderful, wonderful relief of sick energy leaving his body like infected pus. He went limp against the car seat, panting hard.

"Wow, I think you are actually getting off on this," Stark observed, sounding a bit awed.

Laughing heartily in his newfound freedom, drunk on power, Loki opened his eyes to slits. "Of course I am, silly zero." Humming, he closed his eyes again. "I think I could kiss you for this," he breathed.

Stark took a while to answer. "Uh, no objections here," he said at last. Muttered, really.

It was only Loki's magic-enhanced hearing that allowed him to hear it. His breath hitched, and his eyes flew open to look at the man who had returned his magic to him.

Tony was not looking at him at all. His eyes were downcast, and he was biting his lip.

Feeling immensely better, Loki sat up and, without saying anything, cupped Tony's neck, pulling him closer. He closed his eyes and found Tony's mouth with his, giving him a sweet kiss, all soft lips and moist breath, before pulling away.

When he opened his eyes again, Tony was still in the same position, but his eyes were closed.

Loki swallowed hard and letting his hand drop. Why had he kissed Stark? He had meant the remark as a joke, as a reference to Stark's kissing him upon delivering him to the border to El Paso. Why had Stark wanted it?

Was this to be their little tradition? A kiss in exchange for a rescue?

With a sharp intake of breath, Stark came back to life. He licked his lips and opened his eyes, but did not look at Loki. In fact, he looked everywhere but at Loki, his irises flitting around nervously, never settling on anything.

'_Awkward_,' Loki thought. If he wasn't thirty six years old, he would probably also be doing the same routine. "At least this one didn't taste of vomit," he commented, idly looking at his fingernails, allowing Stark to avoid his gaze a little longer.

That was a good enough cue to break the ice. It made Stark snort, at least. "No, but it did taste of poor dental hygiene," he returned, managing a lopsided grin. His cheeks were slightly pink. "I mean, seriously. When was the last time you brushed your teeth, Sauron?"

Oh, really? Loki crossed his arms over his chest. "Houses don't waste valuable taxpayer money on unnecessary luxuries like toothbrushes or toothpaste, I'll have you know," he grinned. "No one cares if the help have bad breath."

"Ha!" Stark barked, grin growing, and met Loki's eyes at last. "Glad to know that it's the government's fault that the witch stereotype has rotting teeth and bad skin. I don't suppose they give you people acne cream either."

Loki chuckled, shaking his head, and looked out the window. He rolled the tinted glass down, feeling the sun and the gentle breeze in his face, and sighed, relaxing. Ah, the simple pleasures.

Stark cleared his throat, making Loki turn to look at him. "So, uh. The new jewelry," he stammered, holding up the platinum-and-quartz fake-cuffs.

"Right," Loki nodded, all business now. He took them from Stark and slid one over his hand, testing it, determining if Stark had been telling the truth and not simply tricking him into wearing novelty magic-restraining cuffs.

There was no pain. No burn, no numbness.

He could still feel the magic churning underfoot, sense the almost electric field around Stark's chest. "Huh," he grunted, pulling it closed around his wrist, and then doing the same with the other. They really looked just like expensive bracelets, the quartz taking on a diamond-like shine as they began absorbing magic.

"So, what's the verdict?" Stark asked, vibrating anxiously in his seat.

Loki raised his eyes, giving him an unreadable look. "I'm not sure I like wearing your name on me, but I shall tolerate it for now."

Stark's eyebrows rose. "That's your objection," he noted, nodding slowly, as if saying 'I see' very condescendingly.

Loki shrugged. "I am not property to be owned, nor do I belong to you. Nonetheless, I thank you for this gift." Without giving him any sort of warning, he leaned over and rested his hand on Stark's forehead, unleashing a spell.

"Loki, what—" was all that Stark managed, before slumping over, fast asleep.

With a wave of his hand, Loki's ugly yellow-green overall turned into something more palatable, dark blue jeans and a dark green shirt. He rummaged through Stark's suit, finding his wallet, and took all the cash he could find. He also took one of Stark's credit cards, figuring he could maybe use it if he claimed his owner — as proved by the cuffs — had sent him.

His hand hovered over the couple of platinum keys still in the briefcase, and he hesitated. He didn't need them, for the cuffs were not Cold Iron and thus he could unlock them by magic.

Maybe it was sentiment, maybe it was a desire to mock the man for attempting to own him, but the truth was Loki put the keys in Stark's inner pocket. He didn't leave a note explaining, as not even_ he_ was sure why he had done it.

He stole Stark's sunglasses before getting out of the car, though, as his eyes were still sensitive.

The driver, alarmed at seeing him walking around, tried to follow, but a wave of Loki's hand had the doors locking irreparably, and the man was left shouting inaudibly and banging at the bulletproof glass, watching helplessly as Loki sauntered away into the airport.

* * *

**AN:** Did you enjoy? :D You know the drill. Two reviews. Tha's all I ask for the next 5k.


	10. Chapter 9

**AN:** This chapter is brought to you by wmn130. Also And then there's also an** anon reviewe**r: what you said is just right. Just letting me and others know you enjoyed my fic is plenty enough. And if you want some recs of amazing fic, just say so and I shall provide.

* * *

Tony spent the next few weeks buried in backlogged R&D for Stark Industries and getting over his disappointment that Loki hadn't come with him.

It wasn't his decision, actually, but Pepper's. And not for the reason one might think, although the drive to finish recovering the fifty six ("Point five!") points the company stocks had dropped had been part of it.

Plain and simple, Pepper didn't allow Tony out in public because no one wanted him there.

It turned out that preaching about magic user rights for months — going to talk shows, building support for them, starting and maintaining non-profits that helped magic users — and then turning around and underhandedly drugging a revolting group so that the state could re-capture everyone was terrible for one's credibility.

Who would have thought, right?

It didn't matter that Tony claimed that it had been the military that had done it, no one believed him. After all, Tony had been the one to insist on giving them food, so it must have been Tony's plan to begin with.

So Tony was under orders to lay low until the whole thing blew over.

This was extremely fine as far as he was concerned, because he didn't think he could do the whole song-and-dance for the media quite yet. He was still trying to convince himself that Loki skipping town on him didn't affect him.

It wasn't like he carried the keys to Loki's cuffs around in his pocket. He wasn't that pathetic.

No, he had them in a box in the drawer of his night stand.

He may or may not take them out every night and sigh at them, wondering what the hell Loki had meant by leaving them behind. 'I'm blowing this popsicle stand, here, have a consolation prize'? Or maybe something stupid, like, 'I belong to you now, here are the keys to my freedom, keep them for me until I come back for them'?

It made no sense at all. And yet Tony still took them out once in a while, when he actually slept on his bed, wondering and thinking about the stupid kiss. Kiss_es_. Whatever.

It was slowly driving him crazy.

He tried to get drunk over it despite how utterly revolting scotch or anything remotely alcoholic tasted — he was sure Loki was to blame for that, even if he still hadn't worked out exactly how — and managed it, only to wake to the worst hangover of his life the next day, and swore off alcohol as a coping mechanism.

Which meant that he had to spend that whole time perfectly conscious of his slow descent into lovesickness.

And wasn't that the most ridiculous thing? Loving Loki?

Loki, who was an unrepentant asshole, who had admitted to manipulating and using Tony to his face, who had made him a better man, who had set him free and shown him a way to redemption, who had trusted him blindly, who had accepted to wear bracelets with Tony's name on them, kissed him, and then knocked him out and stolen his money.

Loki, who was the ultimate puzzle.

Fuck. Tony had it bad.

It took him a whole week of waking up at night wondering why Loki had left, of looking up in the middle of dinner and wondering what he, Tony, saw in that asshole, of wasting minutes in the shower wondering if Loki would like the house in Malibu, and more — so much wasted time — to decide, that, well, Loki could very well go fuck himself

So at the end of the eighth day, he aggressively decided to shove his budding feelings for the asshole in a box in the back of his mind. Every time Loki came up in his head, he made a conscious choice to simply stop thinking about him. It took him another week to manage, but at the end those stupid, irrational feelings actually stayed buried, and he could spend two whole days without Loki crossing his mind.

No drunkenness, of course, meant that he had to find other ways to occupy his mind, or otherwise it would invariably gravitate towards the very subject he was trying to avoid. So he decided to appeal to his other passion: work.

Enter the backlogged S.I. stuff.

They still hadn't recovered fully from the blow of not making any more weapons, even if the Deadlock line was selling like hot bread. It had been their main source of income — military funding, baby — and Pepper had ordered Tony to use his clever head and come up with something they could sell.

As the novelty of integrating magic into everyday life through sigils and clever wiring still hadn't worn off — and Tony didn't think it would happen any time soon — he focused on that.

He had several reasons for wanting to develop gadgets that ran on magic, from electronics to home appliances like ovens to a car that ran entirely on magic. For one thing, it would mean that the people of the US would get acquainted with using magic in their everyday life, and also see how much more convenient it was. He couldn't be a spokesperson anymore thanks to the military making him lose all credibility, but he could do this.

For another, he had been planning on expanding Stark Industries worldwide for some time, making it Stark _International_. Exclusivity issues had meant that he couldn't sell the AP weapons everywhere he wanted, and most of the world had got over their hang-ups about magic anyway, so there had been — still was — little need for Cold Iron grenades, so that's why he hadn't done it yet. No product to pitch.

Devices that ran on or used magic would be an instant hit, especially if he made stuff to enable cheap and quick medical care in poor countries, or, hell, a portable magic water purifier. Good PR never hurt.

However awesome an idea this was, fusing magic with tech, especially considering the way he had been taught to make tech, was a herculean task.

For example, magic and electricity couldn't be together unless electricity was being converted to magic or vice versa, because they generated opposite magnetic fields, wreaking havoc on each other and causing some of the most amazing Technicolor explosions Tony had ever seen. So, having a device with both circuitry and sygaldry was a big no-no.

Magic didn't like running water, either. Or rather, it liked it too much, binding to it and washing it away, unless it was very well grounded in, say, a crystal or something. Still water, as long as it was a small quantity, was fine, as it saturated quickly, but he suddenly understood why the bits of the Iron Man suit that used magic didn't work when he was hovering over oceans, and why musers had preferred baths instead of showers back at the MAGI camp.

He spent the better part of his days experimenting thus. Then he figured that all this, so new to him, was old news for the worldwide scientific community, and began reading up. He had to use JARVIS and a satellite connection as a proxy server, as most of the relevant websites were blocked by the Great US Firewall — which Tony hadn't known existed until he tried to google 'superconduct* ~psiomagnetic field' and come up with zilch.

Again, it opened up and entirely new world, academic in nature this time, and Tony published two papers which were moderately well received, especially considering that most of the scientists publishing on techno-magic were specialized magic users themselves.

After that, he mostly spent his time inventing like mad, dozens of gadgets each week, reading and publishing papers, getting something of a fanbase. It felt good to be spoken of in nice, respectful terms.

After that, Pepper approached him about the possibility of moving the S.I. central house to New York — for several reasons, mostly involving Wall Street and contracts with other firms and projected overseas sales and all manner of things Tony paid Pepper to worry about — and they had both sunk into the design and then the construction of a building that could house R&D, administrative offices, several of the nonprofits supported by S.I., etc.

So, it wasn't really his fault that he didn't notice pro-magic demonstrations cropping up in various universities, in front of Houses, and outside military facilities.

* * *

In a feat deserving of an entry in the Guinness World Records, the Stark Tower was done in slightly less than seven months, during which not a pip had been heard from Loki. The only thing that had been left to do was making the Tower self-sustaining by installing an ARC Reactor that would not only power it, but also have left over clean energy to give back to the electric grid.

Having just finished doing that, Tony arrived at the landing pad in his new digs and, after checking in a holo-screen that everything was working fine, he joined Pepper for a bit of celebratory champagne.

JARVIS announced that Agent Coulson was on the line, but Tony couldn't care less at the moment. Hey, not his fault he had other things in mind, like how he was going to tell the world at large that his new self-sustaining skyscraper actually ran on an ARC reactor augmented by magic, or like how he was hoping to finally convince Pepper to have sex with him after nearly ten months of going back and forth about it.

He missed sex terribly, as he hadn't had it since before New Mexico, almost a year ago now, and he wasn't planning on having it again unless he could trust the other person not to recoil at the sight of the Heartstone and the ugly scars around it — or worse, try to steal it. His working theory was that the lack of sex had actually driven him mad enough to consider himself sort of infatuated with Loki.

Whatever. Point was, he told JARVIS to ignore the call, and walked into his new digs.

Pepper was truly stunning, in a way that only seeing her at her most casual could cause. She was barefoot, wearing very short jean cut-offs, hair completely unbound; she had made herself very at home.

Tony smiled, looking up and down her toned legs. Brains and a great bod, and she was also kind and _normal_. What else could Tony ask for in a person, right? Yes, yes, she was definitely a keeper. Looking back, Tony couldn't see why he had been so sure she would bail on him when he did the whole no-more-weapons announcement; she had taken very little convincing to be sold on the idea that magic was the next big thing.

She was loyal, too, willing to stick with him through the carnage that had been losing the fifty-six points, and then through the PR nightmare of Tony becoming a pro-magic activist and then again an anti-magic one seemingly overnight. She was a constant.

A clever, long-legged constant. Just what Tony needed in life to get over Loki.

"Levels are holding steady," Pepper informed him, grinning in wonder. "I think."

"Of course they are," Tony replied, the 'duh' implied in his tone, "I was directly involved." He took off the earpiece and approached her confidently from behind. "Which brings me to my next question: how does it feel to be a genius?"

"Well, ha," Pepper scoffed, turning around. "I really wouldn't know now, would I?" She didn't shy away from him, which was a good sign.

"What do you mean?" Tony asked. "All this," he gestured around, indicating the whole tower, "came from you." It had been her idea to unify the offices of Stark Industries — soon to be Stark International — into one building. He had only suggested using a combo of magic and technology to power it afterwards.

"No." Pepper shook her head slightly, smiling. "All this, came from that." She tapped the disc of quartz, its glow visible through Tony's under-armor shirt.

Tony couldn't help the proud grin. Yeah, he was awesome when it came to engineering and magic, there was no point in denying it. Still... "Give yourself some credit, please. Stark Tower is your baby." He rested his hands on her shoulders, rubbing her upper arms comfortingly. Further getting into her space bubble.

She still didn't shy away.

"Give yourself..." Tony pondered, calculating, "...twelve percent of the credit." He grinned. It wasn't a fair figure (she deserved at least twenty five) but he couldn't resist.

Pepper's face was priceless. "Twelve percent?" she exclaimed, half-laughing and half-offended, pulling back and walking over to the sitting area.

Oops, too far. Tony walked after her. "An argument can be made for fifteen," he commented, joining her and resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Really, women were too easily offended.

Shaking her head, Pepper poured some champagne into two flutes.

Tony frowned slightly, apprehensive. "I'm going to pay for that comment about percentages in some subtle way later, aren't I?" he asked, giving her puppy eyes. He was dreading the taste of alcohol on his tongue, but he hadn't said anything to Pepper about his problem, and he wasn't planning on saying anything ever.

Pepper pretended to consider it. "Not gonna be that subtle," she said at last, smiling evilly, and handed one of the champagne flutes to him.

Tony's eyes widened slightly, wondering what exactly she meant by 'not subtle'. Knowing her, it could be anything from calling him twelve percent of a genius to making it so he'd only own twelve percent of S.I. shares thanks to a mysterious filing accident.

Before he could ask, however, JARVIS interrupted. "Sir, the telephone. I'm afraid my protocols are being overwritten."

Tony's phone, lying on the coffee table, buzzed to life, the screen turning on with a picture of the stereotypical bland and beige government paper-pusher. "Stark, we need to talk," he said.

Eyebrow raised at how the phone had automatically accepted his call, Tony picked it up. Annoying, persistent bastards. "You have reached the life model decoy of Tony Stark," he announced in a bored tone. "Please leave a message."

"This is urgent," Agent Coulson said, sounding exasperated. As if Tony was being annoying on purpose.

"Then leave it urgently," Tony replied, looking up at Pepper and winking.

She shook her head in exasperation, but she was smiling fondly.

At that moment the elevator door opened and Coulson appeared, phone glued to his ear. As soon as he spotted Tony, he sighed and put it down, cutting the phone call.

"Security breach," Tony announced, and turned to Pepper. "That's on you. Same elevator as the security snafu."

Pepper rolled her eyes.

"Mr. Stark," Coulson greeted in his bland no-nonsense manner. He did a jerky move forward with his head, like a spastic little bow.

"Phil! Come in," Pepper invited, putting on her emergency smile. Tony could totally tell her smiles apart.

"I can't stay," Coulson announced preemptively, walking in nonetheless, carrying his coat and a briefcase in his left arm.

Wait, hang on. "Phil?" Tony asked, puzzled. "Uh, his first name is Agent."

Pepper ignored that comment, instead getting up and walking over to Coulson. "Come on in," she repeated, "we're celebrating."

"Which is_ why_ he can't stay," Tony murmured under his breath, but still loud enough for her to hear.

She sent him a chastising scowl, which then turned into raised eyebrows as she apparently worked out what Tony's plan for tonight had been all along.

Shit, busted.

"We need you to look this over," said Coulson in a display of good timing. "As soon as possible." He'd just saved Tony from having to explain that no, he actually appreciated Pepper a lot, and that wanting sex was incidental because she was both accessible and everything in Tony's Perfect Woman checklist, proving once and for all that not all S.H.I.E.L.D. agents were the bane of Tony's life.

Tony was about to reply that he didn't like to be handed things when he spotted the number of the file — a number he had memorized as soon as he was old enough to request access to the R&D archives of his father's company: Loki's registration number. Mouth dry, Tony grabbed the file without waiting for an explanation, handing the champagne flute to Coulson in exchange. He turned around and, licking his lips, opened it.

The first thing his eyes fixed on was Loki's picture of when he was eighteen. He looked bruised and tired, hair just shorn. It wasn't a flattering look then, and it certainly hadn't been seven months ago when Tony last saw him. He was wearing the standard lime-green overall and holding up a plaque with his number, kinda like those in police arrest photos. The thought, '_He looks so young and so old at the same time_,' crossed his mind.

Loki's posture was that of dejection and surrender, but his eyes... His eyes had the intense, rebellious glint that told anyone who was looking that Loki would make them all regret ever being born.

Tony smiled fondly, tapping the old, yellowing photo with his finger. Then he decided to actually read the file, and his smile fell.

At first it was full of words like 'clever' and 'relentless' and 'tricky', and it gave a sort of bullet-point summary of Loki's life, from his early entrance into university to his escape from S.I. (there was a mention of "a child" that had aided him, but no names, which Tony found amusing) to a speculation of his travels around the world, his connections, etc.

But then, when it reached threat assessment — apparently Loki was fifth in the Most Dangerous list, under Thanos and an old associate of Loki by the name Victor Von Doom who had since returned to his homeland, Latveria — the phrases 'cult leader', 'subversive rhetoric', 'manipulation of masses', 'guerrilla tactics' and 'organizing a coup' began getting tossed around.

The most striking bit was how the file, compiled by a Natasha Romanov, said Loki had endeared himself to Tony Stark, and that Tony was giving him funding.

Tony's eyebrows went up. He didn't know where to start on all the things that were wrong about the file. Palming the little photo, he closed the file and returned it to Agent Coulson, smacking it against his chest and taking his drink back.

"What do you think?" Coulson asked, arm curling protectively over the file, as if afraid pages would spill out.

"I think you are underestimating Loki," Tony replied easily, pretending to sip his drink. "Five? Seriously? What were you thinking?" He slid the picture in his hand into a pocket, and walked casually over to the seats, projecting an air of being completely unbothered by Coulson's tacit accusation. "He should be in second, at the very least. I'd rank him number one, myself." He plopped down on one, sprawling.

The S.H.I.E.L.D. agent looked very much unimpressed. He followed Tony and stopped just short of the step leading to the carpeted sitting area. "Are you funding him?"

Tony hadn't signed up for an interrogation. "Does Loki stealing a credit card from me count as funding?" he asked rhetorically and shrugged, leaning back into the backrest. As far as non-answers went, it was a good one.

"You could have canceled it," Coulson suggested, not even sounding sarcastic. "In fact, you could have reported that Loki escaped as soon as you signed the lease."

Shrugging again, Tony sipped his champagne. God, it tasted awful. "Aw, shucks. Well, I'm very sorry," he lied, very obviously not sounding sorry at all. "Consider it reported now, seeing how you already know about it."

"Stark!" Coulson shouted — yeah, actually shouted.

Startled, Tony looked up at him, blinking innocently.

"Your Arcanist is organizing a coup!" The normally composed man was actually a tiny bit pink in the face.

"Yeah, I saw. Read the file, remember?" Tony said, annoying on purpose. He wanted to see if Coulson would actually turn red or if he would have an apoplexy first.

"Tony!" Pepper hissed, scandalized. "Stop being difficult."

Tony smirked into his glass. "I'll stop being difficult when he stops making it so easy." He forced himself to drink whatever was left in the flute, before turning away.

Coulson was regarding Tony with much disapproval in his face, shaking his head.

Yeah. There were few things that made Tony want to be contrary more than being regarded with disapproval by people who had no right judging him. "Jarvis, anything interesting on TV?" he asked, signaling the conversation was over.

"There is a documentary on Metallica, if you care for it, Sir," JARVIS replied.

Tony leaned forward and poured himself more champagne, wanting to keep up the appearance of nonchalance. "Awesome. Put it on."

The TV flickered to life, showing James Hetfield answering something about some song Tony' wasn't familiar with.

Tony kicked his shoes off and rested his feet on the coffee table, relaxing into the couch, pointedly turning away from the S.H.I.E.L.D. agent.

"That's it?" Coulson asked as if he couldn't quite believe his ears. "Your Arcanist is staging a coup and you're just going to sit back and let him?"

Snorting into his drink, Tony broke into a fit of giggles. "I'm not 'letting' him anything," he chortled. "Have you tried stopping Loki when it counts? Ha! No." He licked his lips, feeling slightly reckless, and continued. "Loki does what he wants. There's no stopping him."

Coulson shot him a hard look, but nodded. "I'll take that into consideration." He turned to Pepper. "I'll take my leave now, Miss Potts."

Tony stopped paying attention then. "Awesome. Please let the door hit you on the way out," he called, raising a hand so it would be seen over the top of the couch, and waved dismissively. "Oh, hang on, they are slide doors," he remembered. His hand dropped to his lap limply. "Never mind, then."

After a few moments, Pepper joined him on the couch, sitting a safe distance away. She was silent, but Tony knew she wouldn't remain so. She looked disappointed in him, like she had expected better. She should have learned by now.

"I mean it," he told her, anticipating the nagging. "I'm not lifting a finger to stop Loki."

"Okay," Pepper accepted, taking the champagne away from him and setting it down. "But there was no need to be so rude."

Tony shrugged, wishing he could get drunk right about now.

Pepper shook her head, sighing sadly. "Fine. Whatever, Boss." She got up and looked for her shoes.

_Boss._

Fuck.

Tony wanted to go after her, but then, if he did, he would have to explain that he was hurt because Loki ran from him, that he missed Loki, that he had tried to get him out of his head and his heart for the last six — seven? — months, that he was furious that Coulson just shown up, all high and mighty, and reminded him of Loki, bringing back all of Tony's feelings of being a failure and substandard.

Feelings he had managed to repress without the help of booze.

So he didn't.

The sound of the front door closing could be heard all through the penthouse.

Everyone always left, after all; even Pepper.

"Jarv, raise the volume," Tony ordered, leaning back. "I don't wanna be able to hear myself think."

* * *

Three days after Coulson's impromptu nag delivery, the coup had still not happened. Which, hey, maybe it wasn't that far out, for all Tony knew. He had no idea what kind of time planning a coup took, did he?

Anyway, the point was that he was home that night, thanks to JARVIS locking him out of the workshop, as he hadn't slept in those three nights.

Tony had his reasons for this, and they may or may not have had something to do with the little square photo of Loki he'd taken to carrying around in the transparent plastic window of his wallet, or the fact that his memories of Loki — his acid laugh, always so mocking, the pale curve of his thin lips, the glint in his eyes when he spoke of magic, the softness of his lips against Tony; still sharp and clear after — had been dragged to the surface of his mind again.

Exiled from his lab by his own creation, Tony had no other option for avoiding sleep than watching TV. So there he was, sprawled on the reclining armchair, half-empty bottle of non-alcoholic beer — the only thing halfway palatable in his liquor cabinet, the irony — in one hand, a slice of cold pizza in the other, watching a movie to kill time until his body gave out and slept despite Tony's orders. This way, at least, he hoped he would sleep deeply enough not to dream.

The movie was terrible, as all late weekday afternoon programming tended to be, and Tony had almost dozed off, when the movie was cut.

"We interrupt this program to bring you this breaking news," the newscaster said. Her brow was wrinkled and her eyes were sliding all over the place — the set? Looking for cues? "Right at this very moment, a terrorist group known to us as Magic Against Injustice, is attempting a coup d'état."

Tony sat up at once, all drowsiness vanishing, his heart beating double-time. "What?" he asked, mouth gaping, his eyes glued to the little screen over the reporter's shoulder.

In it, a live feed right outside the White House were playing. The Avengers — the elite anti-magic squad S.H.I.E.L.D. had tried to get Tony to join — could be seen on the grounds around the building thanks to their colorful costumes. Fighting against them were a bunch of black-clad insurgents, most of them waving about staves or other spell-casting aids.

Their mouths weren't visible through their balaclavas even in the close-ups, nor were their ears, but there was smoke or different colors pouring out of where their mouths and ears would be.

This meant the zone had a live Deadlock device.

Yet they were still standing, still fighting, still casting spells like mad, from what Tony could see between having flashbacks to that time in New Mexico when all his convoy had been dropped like flies and he had been hit with the Flesh Eating curse.

They were immune. Or had developed tolerance, whatever.

The MCU had no weapons against them.

Tony didn't know whether to cheer for them or not, especially considering it was MAGI, the same people who had decided to kill him because Obadiah Stane hadn't wanted to pay the ransom, and even Loki wasn't on good terms with them.

"...various reports differ on who is the leader of this attempted coup," the newscaster was saying, and Tony decided to listen to her. "Military press releases claim the organizer was one Loki Olson, recently declared public enemy number one just two days ago—"

Tony laughed weakly at that, saluting the screen with his bottle of fake-beer.

"—but experts say it is actually Rex Thanos and his brother, leaders of MAGI itself."

Thanos had a name? And it was '_Rex_'? Seriously, could the guy be more pretentious?

Up in the little corner screen, one of the rebels, the one with the staff with the knives, took off his smoking balaclava, which had, from what Tony understood, heroically taken a hit for him before promptly bursting into green fire. The camera did a close-up on him.

It was Loki.

He was a mess of burns and blood, clinging to his staff — spear? — as if he would fall down otherwise, and his lip had been split somehow, blood trailing down his chin. His hair — long again but not as long as it had been before the thing at the University of South Carolina — flapped wildly around in the fierce wind of one of his companion's attacks, some of the strands sticking to his sweaty face, which was frozen in an angry snarl. His eyes, glowing green and gold and ruthless, searched for something, determined.

Tony forgot how to breathe for a second there, and he wouldn't have been surprised to find himself suddenly hard at the image.

Then Loki moved out of frame, and the camera panned out, following him like a lovesick puppy as he vanished in a plume of golden smoke and reappeared behind one Agent Phil Coulson.

Eyes widening in shock, Tony braced himself on the couch, anticipating what Loki was about to do.

Everything that came next happened as if in slow motion.

One of the Avengers, the one with the arrows, spotted Loki and took aim, yelling something, looking pretty desperate even from the distance separating him and the camera.

On the middle of the screen, Loki grabbed Coulson's thinning hair in a fist, pulling his head back, and raised the bladed part of the spear towards Coulson's throat.

The woman Avenger, Black Widow, stopped fighting, opting to look on in dread at the scene unfolding, and one of the warlocks landed a force spell on her, sending her flying back.

Hawkeye loosed the arrow in Loki's direction.

Loki drew the blade over his hostage's throat, cutting it open mercilessly, blood spurting everywhere.

The arrow buried itself into his shoulder — or seemed to, until Tony realized it had gone _through_ Loki.

The clone, or image, or mirage of Loki flickered and vanished, the real Loki — maybe? —reappearing from behind a manicured tree decorating the battlefield that was the President's Park.

Coulson, unsupported, fell to his knees, clutching at his throat, red leaking between his fingers, and fell forward, landing face-down on the mangled lawn.

Tony looked away, wide-eyed, covering his mouth so he wouldn't vomit, and then, after a couple stuttering breaths, looked back at the screen, his eyes stinging. Damnit, he had known Coulson! Had talked to him! And the last thing he had said to him was to fuck off!

Thor Olson, the Avenger with the huge-ass Cold Iron hammer, Mjölnir, went absolutely nuts, shouting his anger for everyone to hear. Apparently, he had really cared for Coulson. He shouted something, pointing his famous hammer at Loki. There was a crackle of electricity around Thor's head area, and his long blond hair started rising.

Loki yelled something back, his face a mask of anger and resentment. Tony couldn't see, but he guessed there was spittle spraying everywhere, what with how furious Loki was.

The screen looked suddenly darker, but that was probably due to the ugly black clouds that gathered over the White House, apparently of their own volition. Thor, electricity still crackling around him, began levitating.

'_Oh, no_,' Tony thought, guessing what was happening, and why Loki had targeted Coulson specifically.

Loki shouted something else, this time grinning cruelly, his lip curling with disdain, and pointed the spear in the still downed Black Widow's direction, shooting a dangerous-looking beam of light at her.

Thor raised his hammer, and a column of lightning dropped down from the skies, intercepting Loki's spell, making it fizzle out.

"This just in," the newscaster said. "We have just received reports that Thor Olson has just performed an unsanctioned act of magic."

Yeah, no kidding. Dude had to be rank four at least, if he could affect the weather.

And while everyone else, MCU and MAGI alike, looked on in abject shock, Loki grinned brilliantly, basking in the chaos he had just wrought by revealing that one of the foremost anti-magic soldiers, a hero that had captured the hearts of millions of preteen girls and the imagination of every kid in the nation, was one of the vile magic users himself.

'_Checkmate_,' Tony thought numbly.

In the middle of the silence following such a display, Loki walked over to Coulson's corpse, using the spear to cast a shield against the onslaught of lightning, brushing it off as if it was nothing but a splash of water. He rolled him over carelessly with the base of his weapon, then crouched beside the body, the domed shield extending to cover the agent as well.

'_What is he doing?_' Tony's brow wrinkled. What could Loki possibly even want from the agent's body? Was he hoping to find spare change?

Closing his eyes, Loki touched his hand to Coulson's head and whispered something.

Coulson gasped to life, sitting up, clutching at his throat again. The camera zoomed in. There was nothing there. No cut. No deadly wound. All the blood that everyone had seen coming out was nowhere to be seen, and Tony wondered why he hadn't noticed before.

Right. Loki's illusions. Tony hadn't known they were convincing enough to make a man think he was dying of blood loss.

A sudden thought crossed Tony's mind, making his blood run cold. Had Tony even had the Flesh Eating curse at all, or was that also Loki's smoke and mirrors?

Deciding he didn't want to think about it just yet, Tony turned his attention back to the TV.

The Agent seemed to notice Loki was there and scrambled out of his reach, grabbing his gun from where it had fallen and firing on him — but by then Loki was long gone, vanished in a swirl of golden smoke.

He didn't re-appear, not even as Thor's lightning went out of control and started hitting every insurgent, not even as the MCU and the S.H.I.E.L.D. agents went around, cuffing and unmasking everyone.

Tony saw a parade of familiar faces — Thanos, the Other, Izumi, people he had cooked and shared meals with, whom he had patched up after training when it was his turn in the infirmary, who had seen him naked as he walked back to his room after a bath, having forgotten to bring clothes — and heard, distantly, the agitated newscaster talking about raids in all the Houses, about how the coup at the White House had been a distraction while other groups cut the chains of State Arcanists all over the country.

He didn't care.

Because another thing had crossed his mind, more terrible than the last.

Nina and Terry... Had they been real? Or had they been another of Loki's masterful illusions, strategically planned to make Tony regret all his life choices up to that point?

His mind was running a mile a second as he remembered everything he could about them, second-guessing all his memories, trying to determine whether they had been real or not.

Tony had to take his hat off to Loki. He was a truly a most magnificent bastard.

Standing up, he headed towards the bar with determination. He grabbed two bottles of hard liquor at random, not even bothering with glasses.

Someone was going to get roaring drunk that night, shitty taste or no shitty taste.

* * *

**AN: **Considering there's at least 30 of you reading this story, I'm gonna demand 3 reviews now. Don't know what to say? Just tell me what you liked most, or least, what line made you laugh or gasp. That's about the most rewarding thing you can tell an author.


	11. Chapter 10

**AN:** Este capítulo va para Bermellón. Me acabo de dar cuenta de que realmente debo traducir esta bestia al español... Algún dia será!

* * *

The next day found Tony still reeling badly from doubt, head woozy and pounding with a tremendous hangover. He was still in bed, having decided he owed himself some proper rest.

It was ruined, of course, by Loki.

"Sir," JARVIS commented, "I have been monitoring the media for news on Loki, as you requested."

Tony groaned and rolled onto his back. "'Sup, J?" he slurred, rubbing at his face. The skin around his eyes was tight and puffy, which meant he had been crying in his drunken sleep. (He may have cried while awake, too, but he'd never admit to it, not when the cause was something so ordinary as a bit of heartbreak.)

A holographic screen appeared over the bed so Tony would have no option but to look at it.

It showed a figure clad in a robe. Not a dress robe or a bathrobe, but an actual wizard robe like those the army Arcanists wore to battle, with protective wards embroidered along the hems. It hid his body from sight, his hood pulled up and obscuring his face.

There was no doubt that this person was one of the warlocks that had fought in the White House just yesterday, and Tony could tell it was Loki. He had memorized the proportion of his body, the width to height ratio, the shape of his hands, his stance. He couldn't get them out of his head, no matter how hard he tried.

Loki's voice, dark and menacing, came from the speakers. "Some people call me a terrorist," he announced.

Tony snorted. '_Wonder why_.'

"...But I consider myself a teacher," the terrorist on the TV continued, declaiming as if he were on a stage. "Lesson number one. Heroes..."

The video changed to show the shaky footage of Thor, levitating on electromagnetic force alone, eyes glowing, sparks crackling around his body as he smote — there was no other word for it — the rebels with bolts of lightning, looking every single inch the wrathful god he had been named after.

"...There is no such thing," Loki continued, purring in the voiceover.

The footage changed angles, expertly edited, showing each and every muser being hit by the lightning, their faces contorting in pain. Above them, his face a mask of righteous satisfaction, Mjölnir held aloft, was Thor.

"This is Thor Olson, one of your _Avengers_," Loki continued dispassionately, spitting the word Avengers like it had personally offended him. "How ironic, that a rank four lightning elemental should be the one to hunt down his brethren while he himself hides from the slavery his masters subject the rest of us to."

Yeah, he had a point. Tony hated agreeing with the bastard, but there it was.

Abruptly, unexpectedly, the footage cut to Odin Olson being escorted by four policemen to a patrol car, onlookers yelling words of hate, spitting at him.

"This, my dear pupils, is Thor's father, Senator Olson, who, as you know, is one of the staunchest supporters of anti-magic regulations."

A collage of old news cutouts began playing, all with headlines like «Olson pushes Arcanist Leasing Act» and «Olson proposes MCU budget increase» and «Not reporting unregistered magic users will now be punished with jail time» and below, in the first paragraph, «Senator Olson proposes new law» .

Loki's mocking chuckles, the dark undertones of them, made heat curl in Tony's stomach against his will.

"What a hypocrite," Loki drawled. "To tell the world at large that magic users should be wrung dry of every drop in service to their _generous _government, and then turn around and hide his own son for over forty years, when he could easily be used to power a whole city. Why not practice what you preach, Odin?" he asked, affecting a childish, innocent tone.

And the video cut off.

Tony realized his hand was down the front of his underwear, and he wrenched it out immediately, wide-eyed and shaking. How come Loki still had this effect on him? Had he put Tony under a love spell? Was that what the sigil Loki had carved in the citrine stone was about?

Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Tony had built assumptions on sand, and it was quickly being washed away, demolishing everything he believed in.

How much of his decisions had been _his_ decisions, and not Loki's? Was he really a good enough person to realize his mistakes and seek redemption, or was that Loki's spell talking? Was he nothing but Loki's puppet? _Who was Tony Stark?_

Tony pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, dry sobbing.

"Sir?" JARVIS asked, his voice as inexpressive as usual.

Was he concerned? Or did Tony's current state of mind simply not compute?

"Remind me to add some fucking emotion to your voice module," Tony said, taking a deep breath and letting his hands drop. Fuck, he needed the numbness of booze right now, hangover or no hangover, taste or no taste. "J. Send DUM-E with a bottle of something alcoholic, will you?"

JARVIS didn't answer right away. Instead, he waited a few moments, as if he was thinking—no, calculating.

JARVIS didn't think, Tony reminder himself, he—_it_ was just a bunch of circuitry and programming; only the barest pretense of a human being, just like Tony.

At last, the AI said calmly, "Apologies, Sir, but I'm afraid I cannot. Your blood alcohol level is still too high to allow it."

"Fuck you," Tony muttered, and then repeated, louder. "Fuck you! Who the hell are you to tell me when I can and cannot drink, huh?" he mocked nastily, rolling over and crawling off the bed. "Fucking watch me, you asshole, I'll get my own damn drink," he grabbed the lamp from the nightstand, "you good for nothing piece of shit!"

"Sir—!"

Tony threw the lamp in the direction of JARVIS's sensors, beyond angry. He missed by about three feet, and it made the fury flare in him. Head throbbing, Tony staggered over to the fallen lamp, the screen falling off when he grabbed it, and he began bashing it into the wall, wrecking the heat sensors and the microphone that lay there.

There was a crackle of static, and JARVIS said nothing.

Tony swung the mangled lamp too far back the next time he lifted it, and it overbalanced him. He fell backwards, landing painfully on his lower back, and he lay there on the floor, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Sir, are you well?" JARVIS asked, his support of Tony unconditional because Tony had _made him that way_. "Should I call for a doctor?"

Clenching his eyes shut and feeling fat, scalding tears roll down his temples, Tony heaved in a huge breath, sobbing. "I'm pathetic," he cried, and how was that strangled, breaking sound his voice? "Who am I, Jarvis?" he asked. "How did I turn into this, second guessing my every thought, drinking to drown my existential doubt?"

"You are Anthony Edward Stark, my creator," JARVIS replied, his artificial voice betraying absolutely no emotions.

Tony had to remind himself that JARVIS was a robot, limited by what Tony had or hadn't programmed him to be able to do. Of_ course_ his voice didn't do emotions. Tony had to listen to his AI's words, not the way he said them.

JARVIS wasn't just making a logical statement, he was actually answering Tony, with all the meaning his cold logical brain could produce.

He was Tony fucking Stark. Inventor. Futurist. He had taken Howard's company and turned it into a multibillion dollar success. He had gone through hell and come back a better person. His affection for Nina and Terry, whether they existed or not, was real. It had been _his_ choice to stop making weapons and turn over a new leaf.

And even if it hadn't, even if it was Loki's supernatural influence, Tony decided he liked the person he had tried to become. Liked that he could look himself in the mirror and not glance away in disgust, leaving aside the past two days.

This — the drunkenness, the destructiveness, the childish avoidance — was the old Tony. The one who was not ignorant, but indifferent to the damage he was causing. And he hated that man, the one who lived jumping from party to party, not caring about anyone or anything, missing important appointments for no reason other than that he had felt like it.

Tony dried his wet face with his wrists, breathing deeply, and sat up, surveying the damage. He had shouted at JARVIS, hit him — inasmuch as a virtual consciousness could be hit — in a drunken rage, when the only thing the AI was ever guilty of was trying to help.

Oh, god — Tony had turned into his father.

"Jarvis, I'm sorry," he whispered, closing his eyes against new tears. He swallowed, and tried again, louder. "I'm so sorry that I called you a piece of shit, that I hit you. You are not shit. I love you, buddy." He looked earnestly at the camera.

"I know, Sir," JARVIS replied, his voice still toneless, but Tony elected to think that maybe he was speaking softly, comforting, forgiving. "I love you too."

Tony smiled for the first time in weeks, leaning back against the half-destroyed wall. "I'm throwing out all the booze, J. Turning over a new leaf, becoming a new man, all that jazz." He paused, wiping off the liquid snot that was dripping from his nose. "Don't allow me to buy anything even remotely alcoholic ever again, okay? No matter what I say."

"Understood, Sir," JARVIS replied. "No alcohol — no overrides."

Tony laughed wetly.

* * *

Later that day, after showering and eating something healthy for once, Tony called Pepper, and told her he wanted to suspend production of the Deadlock series indefinitely, contracts or no contracts.

She didn't even attempt to complain, clearly sensing Tony's inflexibility on the subject, and in exchange asked when they could start promoting the new psionic line and whether Tony had thought of a name yet.

They ended up having a surprisingly pleasant conversation discussing names and business plans — when to break the news to the Board, when to alert the public, should they resurrect Stark Expo? — talking animatedly, both excited to begin the new project.

When the conversation ran out, Pepper said, "You sound happier. Are you high?"

Tony laughed hard at that, spinning in his swivel chair. "Yes, Pep. High on finally doing stuff again."

"Oh, so you are finally out of your slump?" she teased. "And just in time for a board of directors meeting, too."

'_I've stopped drinking for good_,' Tony wanted to say. '_It wasn't my decision before, so it didn't count, but now it does_.' Or maybe, '_I had a good sit down with myself and decided that turning over a new leaf was my choice, no matter how much it seems sometimes that Loki made it for me._' He didn't, though. Some things should remain just between a man and his noggin.

Grinning, Tony affected a childish whine, knowing Pepper knew him well enough not to take him seriously. "Aw, Pepper!" he complained, trying to keep his smile away from his voice, "I thought we were having a moment here!"

"I was having twelve percent of a moment," she retorted, sounding smug, "although an argument could be made for fifteen."

Tony, who had chosen that moment to take a sip of coke, snorted and sprayed it everywhere. "Pepper, are you actively trying to kill me?" he asked, laughing, holding the glass away from him, already mourning his coke-drenched jeans.

Pepper's bubbling laughter was like bells through the receiver.

Shaking his head, Tony hung up on her without saying bye, and turned back to his desk.

The Stark Expo thing actually sounded pretty awesome, and he needed to prepare all sorts of wonderful magic and technological things to wow potential customers. Hey, maybe a Stark would finally manage to make a flying car, after all.

'_Take that, Howard_.'

* * *

A week later, with no apparent provocation, Loki's second 'lesson' aired.

Tony was in the middle of a teleconference by video chat — an important one, even though it was done from the comfort of his office and he secretly wasn't wearing pants — when it hit every channel simultaneously, so he didn't get to watch it as it aired.

JARVIS, who was awesome like that — especially since Tony had coded his voice module with some rudimentary emotional inflections, leaving the AI to learn the more complex ones by himself — alerted Tony with a neat little notice in the lower right corner of his screen, and then, in the same way, told him he would record it for Tony.

The genius business magnate wanted to toss the teleconference out the window and turn on the TV, but he refrained, instead turning to answer the questions of the Japanese guy in the screen, who was actually the current owner of a magical medical supplies manufacturer that Pepper had suggested S.I. buy to start testing the Asian market.

Privately, Tony thought he had the man in the bag as soon as he started talking to him in Japanese, but he still worked to answer Tachibana-san's questions — Would Tony keep the current workers employed? Why was a _gaijin_ interested in starting a line in Japan? Did Tony truly understand what they did at Mahödo Kabushiki Gaisha, as in _magic_ magic? — to the best of his ability, not letting the fellow entrepreneur's half-awed half-patronizing tone affect him unduly.

Tachibana was looking mighty pleased by the end of the conversation, particularly after Tony reassured him that yes, he would make sure that the _spirit of the company_ lived on after the merger, and _yes_, he _did_ want to have a subsidiary that produced magical incubators, respirators, MRIs and medical-grade potions, thank you very much. He parted amicably with Tony and cut the connection off.

Tony sat up higher in his chair. "Jarv," he commanded, looking intently at the screen.

The video began playing at once, showing Loki in his wizard robes. They were scuffed, dirty, as if he had just crawled through some bushes. He looked a bit haggard — nothing like the imposing figure he had cut in the previous video — slumped in his plain wooden chair against a dirty, blood-splattered wall.

"America," he rumbled, his voice smooth like poisonous chocolate, "time has come for lesson number two." His mouth, barely visible in the shadows of his hood, twisted into a smirk. "Your government doesn't care about you. Your rights are," he paused dramatically, "_expendable_, when upholding them is no longer convenient."

Okay, this was new. Tony had never heard this kind of rhetoric coming from Loki. Sure, people called him 'terrorist'; they really liked to throw that word around. But Loki _wasn't _a terrorist.

Or, at least, he hadn't _been_ one.

Terrorists targeted institutions that held meaning to a population, creating fear in the people, yes, but more importantly, in the government. The goal of terrorism wasn't to destroy a building or a monument, it was to scare the government into tightening controls — into violating the supposedly inalienable human rights to privacy, freedom of speech, private property, etc. in an attempt to flush out the terrorists. The real goal of terrorism was to make the people realize exactly how precarious they hard-won rights were, how there was nothing they could do if the government chose to oppress them, and to make them rise against it.

If Tony chose to believe that there had been at least _some_ element of truth in his interactions with the warlock back in the MAGI hideout-cum-refugee-camp, and he did, then he knew Loki enough to know this: Loki had been more like a puppet master hiding in the shadows — making everyone dance on his strings through trickery and a careful selection of the truths he told people — than an in-your-face nut who ran around talking about conspiracy theories to everyone he could reach.

What could possibly have prompted Loki to play the villain, making these videos, putting himself in the public eye?

Loki, unable to hear Tony's thoughts, carried on with his lesson. "Every year, millions of young Americans go through invasive screenings to detect above-average magic activity in their bodies. Those unfortunate enough to pass that test are taken from their families and schools, denied their education and their loving parents, and taken to a cold facility where they are told every day that they are monsters." He shifted in his chair, raising a hand to pull down his hood.

Tony immediately homed in on the bags under his eyes and the unhealthy pallor of his skin, and a traitorous part of his mind wondered if Loki had been sleeping at all or eating halfway well. Then reason kicked in and he shook those thoughts from his head.

"And," Loki continued, looking away from the camera, brow wrinkled in shared pain, "they ought to pay for their monstrosity by being of service to the _kind _government who took them in so selflessly. They are crammed into sanitized hospital-like places, made to sleep in bunks, twenty to a room. They are herded, like cattle, to training, then to the canteen where they receive the barest slops to eat, then made to shower together with cold water, before the cycle repeats."

The video began showing official-looking pictures, the kind found in reports.

Pictures of the dorm rooms, each child sitting in his or her bunk, dressed in the ugly fluorescent-green overalls, all of them looking jaded, haunted, thin. Pictures the mess hall, crammed full, where children as young as six sit together with teens as old as sixteen, the minimum age before they are shipped out to Houses and put to work. Pictures of the showers, blissfully empty, rows upon rows of shower heads hanging from the ceiling. All of that always impeccably clean, all surfaces gleaming.

Tony shuddered. He was thinking about Nazi concentration camps, and how nothing that looked so similar should ever be allowed in the United States of America, let alone be government-endorsed.

"Upon turning sixteen," Loki began again in voiceover, "they are _cuffed_, and given a choice. Either they repay all of the state's _gracious_ care of them by taking up the wand and becoming dogs of the government — which allows them use of their magic now and then, for the missions — or they are released back into normal life, cuffed forever, with no education, no money, in a completely different state from where their parents live."

The video showed lanky hobos sleeping in parks and alleyways, begging for hand-outs, thick golden cuffs shining on their dirty wrists. Their faces were young, but their eyes were not. A clip began playing, some kids, zeros all of them, edging each other on to run to them and spit on them, then another, this time a group of drunk frat boys beating one man with jewelry twinkling on his wrists.

Tony remembered that witch from the casino, so long ago now, and how he had regarded her attempt at seduction with derision, how he had told himself her situation — having no job, relying on stealing and prostitution to eat — was to blame on her kind's laziness and lack of morals. He swallowed, feeling sick to his stomach.

"Magic deprivation lowers defenses," Loki continued, derailing that train of thought, "and these teens, these American citizens with American parents and siblings, are condemned to either die of colds before they turn twenty five, as they have no money to get appropriate treatment, or to turn to crime to cover the costs, as no one will hire them legally," Loki's voice wavered slightly, betraying his strong emotions.

Tony tasted blood, and realized he had bit through the pad of his thumb where he had been chewing on it. Yeah, it made him grind his teeth as well. He understood so many things now.

Then the video cut to the Houses, the camera touring around the inside, showing the cells that contained the State Arcanists, their outfits now chartreuse to indicate their new status. The windows were small and barred, and the place looked like a row of maximum security prison cells.

"These are the ones who choose to become dogs of the government," Loki announced, the camera showing him again. There was zero judgment in his voice, as if he didn't resent the ones who chose that at all. "They receive a nominal payment of ten dollars for their services, regardless of what kind of service it was, as slavery is technically forbidden in this country." He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and shaking his head._ "Alms_, we call them."

Tony bit his lip, deliberately not focusing on how pretty Loki was when he was vulnerable and hurting, and how much he wanted to give him a hug and tell him everything would be okay. It was all a ploy to garner people's sympathy — Loki was acting well enough to earn an academy award.

In the screen, Loki tilted his head forward. "They also receive, by law, two dollars per hour, which, as they are on call all day 24/7, means a baseline of a thousand and forty dollars a month, higher for higher ranks." A wry smile. "Lower by half than any minimum-wage job, and they work four times as long," he commented casually. "But that isn't all; oh, no. Since the Arcanist is an _employee_ of the House, things like rent, food, clothing and medical insurance are deducted from their salaries, sometimes plunging them into debt."

Well, fuck. Loki had a point. The only reason Arcanists weren't slaves was that slavery was illegal, and even then the government had managed to achieve pretty much the same thing. Tony spun in his chair, trying to swallow the sheer injustice. It was really hard not to side with Loki, even knowing he was choosing very carefully which version of the truth to present.

"Want to know the worst thing?" Loki asked, grinning cruelly at the camera. "Those that manage to earn enough not to be in the red are not _allowed_ to use their money. It sits there, in the House's bank account, until they have a child who possesses no magic. Then that money goes as payment to whoever agrees to foster the son or daughter of an _unnie witcher_. Ask any labor lawyer if you don't believe me," he challenged. Then he sat back again, deflating. "Really, the only Arcanists who have it good are those who have been leased to masters kinder than the government you so love and trust." He idly tapped the center of his chest, displaying his platinum-and-(apparently)-diamond cuffs, a soft little smile playing on his lips.

Tony, touched, grinned, knowing Loki had dedicated that comment to him. Really, as far as masters went, Tony had outdone himself, and now he knew Loki recognized that. Maybe it _had_ been all in Tony's head, after all. How many of Loki's perceived manipulations were true, and how many were just Tony's paranoia? Loki had readily admitted to manipulating Tony to an extent — but could Tony trust him to have told the truth?

Loki, apparently satisfied as to how his video had gone, started rounding it up. "All the wrong magic users did to have this travesty imposed upon them was being born with the wrong genetic combination. One in every four children is born with enough magic to pass the screenings." He raised his eyebrows. "This could easily be one of _your_ children. Will _you_, fully conscious of what awaits them, still sit back and do _nothing_ to rectify this situation? Will you try to hide them under your skirts, like Senator Odin did to Thor?" He sneered at the camera. "You need to sort out your priorities, America."

The video cut off.

Tony was stupidly glad, all of a sudden, that he had no children to worry about. "Oh, boy," he sighed, shaking his head. He didn't even bother opening twitter, guessing the video was all people would be talking about for a long while.

* * *

Videos notwithstanding, the intervening months before Stark Expo were some of the best of Tony's life.

Pepper, who was the goddess of business, began schmoozing with everyone who mattered — or perhaps simply hounded them and stared at them until they gave in, like she did with Tony — dealing with contractors and with the administrators of the Flushing Meadows park, where they wanted to host the Expo, and,at the same time, soothing the butthurt board members, who had not yet given up complaining and whining about how normal people shouldn't have stuff made with magic, that it was unnatural.

To Tony's utter delight, Pepper hired a number of wizard-level State Arcanists and put them to work alongside the engineers in R&D to help come up with working prototypes. Not so much the engineer's delight, though; they were wary as all hell about having musers in the house, frolicking in their research labs, so Pepper very strongly requested Tony to sit them down and give them a _chat_, as she was rather busy at the moment, consolidating the buying of the Japanese company while juggling contractors _and_ having talks about a potential merger with a company in Germany.

Tony had absolutely zero problems with the idea of meeting new magic users whom he could drill for answers. He went over in his Iron Man suit instead of taking the elevator, and began chatting with the Arcanists, letting them ooh and ahh over the suit before asking about the feasibility of a method he had come up with to make heart pacemakers entirely by tattooing a sigil on the heart itself. He started going off about thaums, energy conversions, cell thresholds and all manner of dizzying half-science half-magic concepts.

The eldest of the wizards, one Stephen Strange, doctor in medicine and psychology as well as accomplished wizard — and Loki's university mention, to boot, if Tony remembered right — looked impressed, and joined the conversation, suggesting that the ink could actually be made from a potion tailored to each patient.

The other State Arcanists also had their own two cents to add, and the conversation devolved from there, everyone proposing projects.

One of them, a bombshell going by Maya Hansen, who had managed to get a Bioengineering degree before being discovered, commented that she had been developing an programmable potion with nanobots, called Extremis, based on Erskine's famed super-soldier serum, and maybe Stark Industries would like it.

The other one, a shy guy, Bruce Banner, was doctor in nuclear physics. He stammered and commented on his own attempts to recreate the same serum, which had ended up turning him into some kind of were-beast, apparently magic enough to merit cuffing him. He praised her idea to use nanobots to activate it instead of gamma radiation, and then spoke about his new idea, portable water filters so everyone could have drinkable water.

Tony may or may not have developed a science boner right at that moment, realizing that Bruce was _the_ Dr. Banner. He went full-on fanboy on him, shaking his hand and gushing about his work on anti-electron collisions, and then began asking a million questions to all three of his new arcanists.

The engineers, seeing Tony's easy acceptance and integration, timidly began making comments and asking questions too, slowly getting excited as they understood just how compatible both fields were, and all the possibilities the joining of magic to the rest of the sciences would bring.

Four hours of excited chatting and sketching later, JARVIS ordered pizza and beer for them (non-alcoholic for Tony, which he smiled at wryly upon receiving) so they could chat some more.

No one returned home that week, too in love with the atmosphere of science and learning and brainstorming to leave, instead living off takeout and sleeping in the futons that all of Tony's R&D facilities had.

This also marked the birth of a beautiful friendship for Tony. Because as far as R&D teams went, they had great chemistry, but Tony was _fascinated_ with Bruce Banner and the brain he held between his ears, so he invited the man to sojourn at the Stark Tower.

Banner hesitated and said no, but when Tony repeated his question for the third day in a row, the man consented to come and try it out.

Tony gave Bruce his guest room and half of his lab, away from the company ones, until they could set up one for Bruce, pretending not to notice when the man began quietly weeping.

In the following days, there was always science being done. One of them would wake up at four in the morning with a brilliant idea riding the tail of a dream and seek out the other one to brainstorm, or one would need some sleep or rest and the other would take over his experiment. They were a like a well-oiled machine, perfectly tuned, stunningly in synch.

By the end of the second week of their acquaintance, they were finishing each other's sentences.

It was just what Tony needed to get over his slump, especially since Loki _kept hijacking the signals and sending videos._

He would talk about his treatment at the hands of Stark Industries when it had still been under Howard's direction — Tony hadn't been able to stomach that one, remembering what he had seen, knowing from the reports just how many times Loki had tried to kill himself to stop the torture, and what that torture had entailed — or about what life for a magic user was like in countries where magic was legal. He also talked at length about how freeing magic would benefit society as a whole, backing up his assertions with statistics, showing the public the magical devices like self-heating pots or power-free fridges, and always, _always_ spewing vitriol against the US administration and the institution of the Houses.

Tony couldn't help but notice how Loki grew progressively more and more haggard. His hair, normally so lustrous and shiny, was unkempt, flat, brittle. His skin, which used to be so creamy, now showed hints of wrinkles and red patches, and, in the last video, the bags under his eyes had been so purple they'd looked like bruises. His clothes were not always the same, but they reappeared often, as though Loki didn't have many options; they grew faded and stained, scuffed, threadbare around the edges. And he looked thinner, too, his high cheekbones looking sharp enough to cut diamond.

Was he on the run, then? It was the only explanation for all that. He would have to sleep with an eye open, ready to bolt, and pack light in case he had to run again. He probably was eating only what he could steal, as the credit card that Tony had not yet canceled had been discovered by S.H.I.E.L.D., and they could track him by it.

And Tony, despite everything he had gone through because of Loki, despite feeling heartbroken and abandoned and never good enough, worried about him.

But then Pepper would call to ask him about talking with other companies to demonstrate their products on the Expo, or Bruce would come tell him he had just thought a solution for the psionic interference with electromagnetic fields, and Tony would manage to get it out of his mind.

So all was well enough, and Tony was very, very happy.

* * *

**AN: **Calm before the storm, dear readers. Next chapter will be up as soon as I get 3 more reviews (That'd be 26 in total for nearly 70,000 words). Till then!

**EDIT: **It's been 3 days since I posted. Really, guys, just one more review!


	12. Chapter 11

**AN: **You cheap-ass readers can thank Luloria for biting the bullet and writing the last review needed for this chapter to happen. BTW, kitten, your English is just fine! It means even more to me that you made the effort!

* * *

Loki ran, dodging people on the street.

It seemed that everyone was part of a complot to block his path. He almost kicked a young girl who wandered from her mother, managing to sidestep her at the last moment. He saw the mother turning to glare at him out the corner of his eye, but he paid her no mind as he rounded the corner.

There, a Metro station!

He slipped in, taking two steps at a time, one hand grabbing onto the railing to keep his balance, the other around his backpack to stop it from jiggling and bumping into people, which would slow him down.

The next train was arriving at the station, and he reflexively leapt over the turnstiles, running for the train, not even pausing for a second. An outraged cry made him look back briefly, and he saw four MCU agents, dressed in suits and leather shoes, jumping over as well.

They looked around for him. The one of them spotted Loki and, cupping his hand to his ear, said something. The others turned around, spotting Loki as well.

Right that moment, the train's doors opened, and people began getting off.

Loki walked into the train, his heart in his throat, breathing fast. He was _fucked._ The MCU agents knew which wagon he was in, and it was only a matter of time before they found him.

Unless...

Seeing the agents pushing people away to come in his direction, Loki ducked, so his head wouldn't pop up among the crowd, and threw up an invisibility veil around himself. Then, leaving a mirage of himself in place, he elbowed his way through the throng of people and got out of the car.

The MCU agents fell for it, still walking in the direction of Loki's copy. Loki watched from outside as one of the men's hands made to grab it and passed through, just as the automatic doors closed. The agents began rubbernecking around immediately.

A prankster at heart, Loki couldn't resist dropping the veil and waving cheerily at them, enjoying their outraged faces as the train began moving, carrying them out of the station. As soon as they were out of sight, he cast a different veil, one to make him invisible to cameras instead of the naked eye, and pulled out the cheap nylon windbreaker out of the backpack. He expertly juggled the backpack from hand to hand as he put it on and jammed his head into the hood to hide his face.

People barely even noticed him as he walked, as he had long ago perfected the art of blending in with the background, and he was able to exit the Metro station easily.

He had no idea how they had found him so easily this time. He had only just arrived in the city, had been assured by the underground network of magic users that it was safe. Amora had personally sent him a message on the encrypted Reddit forum for musers. Had it been a trap?

Or worse, had the MCU found the site?

Loki shook his head, clearing it, and looked around for a public phone booth. He found one and got in, letting the backpack drop on the floor with only the minimum amount of care for the netbook inside; he was in too much of a hurry to care, and he could always steal another if this one broke. He had two quarters left, as he had used his other coins as bases for sygaldry to make smoke bombs and flashbangs, which he had deployed in an earlier chase.

Amora answered on the first try, her voice still sweet as honey, but decidedly more bitter than what Loki remembered from their teenage romance. She said she was waiting for him, and why was he taking so long?

Still not sure if he should trust her, Loki went to the nearby park and sat down in a bench, basking in the sunlight. He hadn't showered in two days, let alone shaved, but the heat of the sun made him feel clean all the same, washing off the residue of spells from his body, invigorating and purifying his magic.

Life on the run had been hard to get used to again.

Loki hadn't predicted that. He had thought he was too used to it from his years of being a nomad for it to be an inconvenience, but living in the MAGI camp had spoiled him. He had accumulated a ton of clothing and _so much stuff_. Books, stones of power, little trinkets he had found or had been gifted to him by the children he taught. He had become used to having a bed, steady meals, and a bath ready wherever he might want one.

Most of all, he had become used to the hustle and bustle of neighbors. To watching his tongue, lest he insult someone he would have to see every day for the foreseeable future. To having someone to boast to about his latest invention or discovery, or to tell him about the developments in _their_ lives. To not having to cook or do his own laundry always, because there was always someone to pick up the slack.

He missed being missed. He missed having a _home_.

Loki tilted his face into the sunlight, closing his eyes, feeling the summer breeze through his oily hair. The air smelled clean here, nothing like some of the cities he had been through to get to Minneapolis, which had smelled of smoke and dirt and vice.

"Sir," a voice said to his left, "you can't be here."

Loki opened his eyes, struggling to get adjusted to the bright sunlight, and he discovered a policewoman had approached him. "Oh," he said, shaking his head to clear it from the trance he had almost fallen into. "Yeah, I must look like a hobo, sorry," he apologized, standing up, having learned that the best way to be forgotten was not to be confrontational.

People never forgave or forgot rudeness; kindness, on the other hand had a tendency to slip by unnoticed.

The woman's face smoothed out, seeing that Loki wouldn't be a problem after all, despite his height and apparent strength. "You do, Sir. This is a family park, and it scares the children."

Yeah, the story of Loki's life. It's what you got for being the monster people used to threaten children who didn't behave. "I apologize again," he said, inclining his head in a shy little bow that had historically got him out of more trouble than his magic. "I recently lost my home," he lied blatantly, still affecting the _poor-me_ expression.

The woman seemed to understand, giving him a small smile. She stared at his face, looking from eye to eye — Loki could see her pupils dilating perfectly well — and saying, "My brother runs a soup kitchen for the homeless."

Loki nodded along, looking as grateful as he felt, thanking his genes for his pretty face that women seemed to like so much and find inherently trustworthy.

The policewoman took out a small notebook and wrote something down, before handing it to Loki with a genuine smile.

Loki's smile was less genuine and more a copy of hers, as he had learned that casually imitating people's body language made them more likely to like him and more receptive to his opinions. He took the proffered slip of paper, seeing it had an address on it, and slipped it into the once-red backpack where he carried all the worldly possessions he wasn't wearing on his person.

It wasn't an exaggeration. Loki had learned to travel light during his first three months of backpacking around Europe.

A blanket; thermal, light and very warm. A leather bag with a potions kit that could double as a cook pot in a pinch. His staff, carved by his own hand, which doubled as walking stick and weapon. A spool of copper wire, chalk, a jar of magic stones and a small bag of salt. His combat robe, warm and well warded with embroidered sigils. Clothing; half of which he carried on his person, two pairs of pants, three shirts (two plain t-shirts, one button-up he could wear over them if it got chilly), two pairs of socks and underwear to alternate, one of ratty sneakers, a nylon windbreaker that was too short for him. A flashlight. A Swiss army knife. Two granola bars. A camera and a stolen netbook. A pair of platinum and quartz cuffs. And finally, the Lord of the Rings trilogy, which he hadn't had the heart to leave behind.

It was all he needed, at least until winter came and he had to exchange the windbreaker for a heavier jacket.

Thanking the policewoman, Loki turned around and left, deciding to take a chance and see Amora. At the very least, he figured, she could give him a place to sleep and a hot meal.

* * *

Amora wasn't the same person Loki had fallen in love with. It was fair, he supposed, as he had changed a lot as well.

It was still nice to have some closure, nonetheless. Somehow, in the back of his mind, Loki had never quite let her go. He'd never given up on the future he had once imagined he could have with her.

Meeting her did it. It wasn't just because she was married now (to a hulking beast by the name of Skurge Jäger), but because she had lost her fighting spirit and become part of the two-point-five-children-and-a-white-picket-fence club. She was now a soccer mum, terrifying in her own right. She could make teachers and coaches quake in their boots.

Loki did the same to generals and senators.

(He couldn't help but compare her with Tony, in his head. Tony also made powerful people quake. Tony had the power to change the world, and he was using it eagerly.)

Leena Moran had aimed small, conquered, and been satisfied; while Loki had carried on with their stupid idealistic pipedream of freeing all the magic users and achieving equal rights.

Loki couldn't love a woman like that. So he didn't even try.

Amora baked cookies for him, letting him wolf down a plate of microwaved leftover pasta while he waited, her golden cuffs tinkling against the mixing bowl, declaring her property of an educational facility. She had been leased to the University of Minnesota for research, and she had pretty good rapport with her masters, possibly aided by her pretty face and figure, still stunning even after two children.

They chatted, and Amora reiterated her offer of asylum, which Loki took gratefully. He was bloody tired of running, of sleeping wherever he could, eating whatever he found.

Back when he'd still had money on him, he had stayed at less-than-one-star motels. It had been as terrible as sleeping on the street, the sheets always smelling of someone else's sweat, or worse, but at least he had had a roof and cover from the wind, so he couldn't complain.

After the cash had ran out, Loki had begun breaking into empty or abandoned houses, as they sometimes had canned or non-perishable food hidden around. (Just a week ago, he had managed to find peaches; _that_ had been a nice treat, especially considering he hadn't eaten at all in three days before that, as the MCU had been on his trail.) Houses also meant neighbors, and neighbors meant, generally, Wi-Fi.

He still carried Tony's credit card in his pocket, but he didn't dare use it. It was how the MCU had tracked him the time before this one: he had withdrawn a thousand dollars from the cashier using the card and his bracelets as ID, hoping he wouldn't need more for a time, and the bank had given him the money but flagged him as a potentially escaped arcanist.

Loki had managed to lose them, but somehow they had returned, like hounds on a scent.

Amora allowed him to take a shower, shave, and nap on the couch until Skurge came home from work. Apparently, he was the jealous type, and no one would be happy if he found Amora's old flame crashing on the sofa.

Loki merely smiled and thanked her, falling asleep almost before he finished getting horizontal. Next thing he knew, Amora was waking him roughly, shaking his shoulder, and telling him to get out of the house through the back door and meet her at the Twin Cities campus the next day.

Having nowhere else to go, Loki decided to try out the soup kitchen. Maybe he could make some friends who would let him share their alley that night.

* * *

The soup kitchen ended up being the best possible choice.

One of the guys Loki shared a table with confided in Loki about a great place to sleep. One of the parks nearby had recently been remodeled and a playground had been added. One of the main attractions was a plastic dome with footholds so children could climb it and slide molded into the plastic, and apparently there was an opening on either side for children to crawl in and out.

Loki decided to stay the night there. He had a bit of trouble finding the park and even more getting his long body inside the plastic contraption; but, once he managed, the rest was easy. He took the blanket out of the bag and used magic to lay it out in the sand, sitting on it with his wizard robe on, resting against the curving wall, thanking his lucky stars that the playground was too new to smell like piss yet.

His mind, as usual when it was idle, turned to Tony. He wondered how his owner was doing, and then, like always, pondered cutting the fake cuffs and breaking free. Then he told himself he couldn't, because the stones embedded in them were too useful to get rid of. That was his excuse, at least.

The truth was, Loki was keeping them because of sentiment. The cuffs reminded him of the man with whom he seemed to have a strange connection, as did the books in his backpack, which he planned on giving to Tony someday in thanks for yet again setting him free.

Speaking of connection, it had been almost two weeks since the last video. It was high time he made another one.

Loki lifted a hand, palm up, and gathered his magic upon it, creating an orb of light. When he dropped his hand to grab the camera, the orb remained floating in place, spinning slightly. Turning the camera on and propping it up on his knees, Loki huddled in his robe and began talking.

"Good morning, America," he greeted, deciding on a whim to air the video tomorrow morning. "Welcome to lesson number eight. I saw that you liked my last video," he grinned, thinking of the comments he had seen on the news and on the internet.

Last video, he had been missing Tony irrationally, and perhaps that had colored his decision to tell the world about how Stark Industries had treated him, and how he, in return, had treated the sweet child who had been the only kind voice in a year. People had gone _nuts_. Apparently, they all liked a good sob story.

"Today, however," he told the camera, "is not a story. Today, you get facts. For example, did you know that the mortality rate of cuffed magic users is ten times higher than uncuffed ones? This is because cuffs restrict the flow of magic..."

He proceeded to explained at length the side effects of having your magic suppressed. He showed the camera via a hologram what magic actually looked like when inside a body, how it travelled, how it became stagnant and rotting when it didn't flow. He told everyone who would hear exactly how it _felt_ to have magic suppressed, in vivid lurid detail, sparing nothing.

"Another fact. Countries that do not press magic users into service still have State Arcanists." Loki arched an eyebrow, sarcastically asking '_who would have guessed, right?_' "In fact, magic users need to have qualification to apply for the job, the same way an architect must have qualifications, lest his buildings collapse upon themselves."

Loki thought he heard something, so he paused, concentrating. Nothing, just a bird, judging by the sound of beating wings. He turned back to the camera.

"Another fact: magic users who didn't need to be forced into service actually _want _to do it. This may sound redundant, but it's quite the novel idea. You see, people who actually want to do their job tend to do it well. These countries consistently enjoy a success rate in State Arcanist missions double that of the US, even if the Arcanists, being smaller in number, take fewer missions. I suppose it could also have something to do with how _educated_ and _prepared_ these Arcanists are, as an education in magic is not only allowed, but mandatory, unlike this country, which expects pressed men and women to _magically_ know what to do."

He smiled pleasantly, his eyes not joining in with the smile at all. The curvature of the wall was annoying, so he laid down, camera in hand. He knew he didn't look as well-kept as he had the first few videos, and he probably had bags under his eyes right now, even after the long nap in Amora's couch. He sighed.

"The life expectancy of a magic user in the service of the State differs from country to country. In Europe, where magic users are unionized and have access to state-provided medical care, they tend to live to see a hundred and fifty, which is fortuitous, as witches get more powerful the older they get. Oh, what's that?" Loki asked rhetorically, cupping a hand to his ear. "You think that's too long?"

Loki grinned nastily at his reflection in the camera lens.

"You wouldn't know it from the life expectancy of musers in our beloved country, but we are actually quite long lived. There are records of wizards having lived until their third century. However, here, a magic user is lucky if they get to see the end of their fourth decade. Most die before the age of thirty-five, which makes me one of the lucky ones. Did you know the prevalent cause of death among State Arcanists is suicide? I wonder why that could be."

Loki's deadpan gaze made it clear that he wondered nothing.

There was the noise of footsteps right outside.

Eyes widening in fear — had someone seen him? — Loki lowered the camera and, concentrating, threw up a veil to hide his presence. He couldn't make a sound.

The footsteps came to a halt outside the opening on Loki's left. Combat boots. Either a soldier or a policeman.

'_Please be a policeman, please be a policeman_,' Loki chanted internally, trying and failing to control his breathing.

The mystery man crouched, peering into the opening, his blue uniform practically invisible against the dark of the night. "That is weird," the man commented. "I could have sworn I saw a light coming from here."

Feeling relieved that the man couldn't see him, Loki waved at him playfully, still saying nothing.

The policeman didn't react, merely shrugging and pulling back, going away.

Loki let out the breath he had been holding. Stupid! He had forgotten to put up a veil! That was a rookie mistake! He shook his head, resting his face tiredly in the palm of his hand. "Pretend you didn't see that," he whispered at the camera, smiling ruefully. "Okay. This concludes today's lesson. Good bye, and remember, magic is for the people, not for the governments."

He turned off the camera and sighed. On a gamble, he took the netbook out and turned it on, checking for Wi-Fi.

What do you know, there was one with two bars of connection. Probably that hotel across the street, same reason why there had been a policeman around. It was password protected, of course, but he had long since learned to coax passwords out of the airwaves. It wasn't magic, either; just plain old programming and knowledge.

One hour later, Loki was almost asleep, but the video was finally sent to the guy who'd make sure to transmit it to every television at once.

He snapped the netbook shut and closed his eyes, determined to catch some Zs.

* * *

When the sun came up, Loki woke and stuffed everything into the backpack, except for half of a granola bar, which he ate in two bites, chewing as long as he could to try to convince his body that he had eaten more. He waited until the park began filling up, taking it to mean that the city had woken up, before crawling out from under the plastic slide, veiled in magic.

Having nothing better to do, he decided to visit the university, talk to the other arcanists, see if he could get them to join the movement as he had done with every major university or college along the way from South Carolina to Minnesota.

Universities were his preferred targets, full of idealistic youth in want of direction. They were surprisingly easy to convince, especially because his rhetoric _made sense_. But an even better reason was this: even if their protests today amounted to nothing, in ten, fifteen, twenty years, these people would be running the world, and things would get better.

Finding the campus was easy, and he was allowed inside without a fuss, probably because he was still clean from the shower and neatly shaved. Instead of asking for Amora right away, he struck a conversation with some students, telling them he was a visiting professor and he wanted to know about the university.

They chatted eagerly, apparently having nothing better to do than chat with strangers, letting Loki know more about the University's stance on magic users than he would have found out speaking to the Dean or the chaired professors.

Loki easily directed the conversation in the direction of all the protests that had been going on, asking them if they were planning on having something similar.

And then one of the girls recognized him. "Hey, aren't you that guy?" she asked, looking at him with suspicious eyes.

"I don't know what you're talking about," Loki replied, grinning.

The others seemed to realize what was going on and one of them outright _clapped him on the back_. "You're, like, my hero, man," he said, looking at Loki with stars in his eyes.

Loki's grin got wider, and he looked from one to the other, seeing similar expressions in all of their faces. Awe and respect. "I am not supposed to be a hero, my friend. It is a sad state of affairs when a man is a hero because he does simply what is right."

They nodded eagerly.

The same kid, the one who sounded like a hippie, didn't remove his hand from Loki's shoulders, leaving it slung there amicably. "We were about to get some noms, Loki-dude. Come join us."

The girl who had recognized him agreed. "Yeah. We owe you a meal at least."

Loki would never say no to free food, so he eagerly joined them.

They presented themselves, letting him know exactly why they liked Loki's preaching so much. Some of them had lost family or friends to the Arcanist Program, but all of them agreed that it was inhumane.

The girl, Darcy Lewis, was a political science undergraduate from another university, and she had moved here to finish her studies and become a Ph.D. because the new dean of Culver University, her old alma mater, was very much anti-magic, and she hadn't been able to stand it. Upon being urged to by her friends, she confided in Loki that she was doing her doctoral thesis on him, and could she ask him a few questions?

Loki, flattered pink, agreed, and they spent the rest of the lunch and an hour or two beyond talking.

At first, Darcy just asked him questions about his political stance and how he had decided to become something like an activist, the others piping in with sometimes clever questions, but then, seeing that Loki _understood _people, she began engaging him in actual conversation.

"So, the coup was a red herring, after all?" she asked, sounding stunned. "What you really wanted was to expose Thor's magic?"

Loki nodded. "Yes and no. It was also a distraction so MAGI could cut cuffs in Houses all over the country." He grinned, turning his fork in the noodles to take another bite. "But yes. It was the biggest blow I could deal Odin, showing the world what a hypocritical liar he is." He was the only one at the table still eating, as he was taking his time savoring the food.

The cheap overcooked pasta with the salty, slightly burned sauce reminded him of the MAGI camp, of home.

"But how did you know he had magic?" one of their spectators (they had gathered something of an audience) called.

"Oh, we go way back," Loki answered, eagerly accepting a bun of bread that was offered to him and breaking off a piece to help the last of the noodles onto the fork. "Haven't you noticed our surnames? Odin adopted me when I was eight. Thor and I used to play hunters and witches together." He scoffed fondly. "Guess who played what."

That, apparently, was news. "That must have sucked, growing up hearing anti-magic sermons."

Loki nodded slowly, lost in memories. "Odin was... He thought he knew everything, and nothing could convince him otherwise. I was there when Thor came out to him about having magic, even though back then all he could make were a couple of sparks." He grimaced, returning to his food. "Odin kicked him out of the house for three days, and then, when he allowed him back in, it was on the condition that he wouldn't do any magic _ever_, because Odin would not suffer a son of his to be a witch."

"Ouch, harsh," Darcy commiserated. There were murmurs of agreement in their audience.

"Yep," Loki agreed, popping the 'p'. "One week later, Odin's law about mandatory screening at fourteen came out. Guess how old Thor was." He parsimoniously dipped his bread into the sauce and ate it, proceeding to wipe his tray clean.

"Fifteen?" a girl with dreadlocks offered. "I heard that that law was originally intended to test people at age sixteen."

"Mm-hmm," Loki nodded, his mouth stuffed with bread and sauce. He swallowed, and pointed at the girl with the bread still in his hand. "Exactly. All of it. Odin changed the cut-off age at the last moment, so Thor wouldn't be caught and leave him heirless."

"What about you, then? You were his son too, legally," someone asked.

No, Loki had never been Odin's son. He had just been Thor's playmate, and perhaps a doll for Frigga to play house with. But he wasn't about to tell that to a bunch of strangers. "Oh, I didn't count," he said dismissively, stuffing another piece of bread in his mouth as an excuse not to talk.

Luckily, Darcy appeared to realize how sensitive the subject was and changed it. "Okay. I'll have to go to classes soon, so no more questions from the peanut gallery, OK?" she warned, adjusting her glasses. "What do you propose as an alternative to the Arcanist Program? You can't expect the government to agree to let a bunch of super-powered humans run around without check."

Loki laughed at that. "No, no, nothing like that. Think about it like guns. The government requires people to pass a series of aptitude tests and then grants them a license. All weapons, ideally, should be registered to their owners. That's what I propose."

"People should pass a test to be allowed to do magic?" Darcy asked, eyebrow raised. "How is it any different from what we have now?"

"No, no, you misunderstand," Loki said, shaking his head patiently. "They would need a license to do magic for or on other people, like how doctors need to be licensed to legally perform medicine on someone else." He paused, waiting for that to sink in. "Also, setting a standard means that magic users should be educated if they wish to be professional spell-casters, potion-makers, fortune-tellers, or whatever, really."

That made them think.

Darcy smiled. "That's an awesome solution. It means there can be a Union for Arcanists. And a minimum wage system, so that no-one gets ripped off." She grinned, excited. "We could have a Hogwarts!"

Some people in the audience tittered, getting the reference.

That made Loki's eyebrows rise. "You are familiar with the books?" he asked, intrigued. "I thought they were banned."

Darcy grinned sheepishly. "I had a friend from the UK find an electronic copy and email it to me encrypted. No ban can beat the power of the internet."

"Amazing," Loki observed, smiling faintly. He opened his mouth to recommend the Lord of the Rings to her when he saw, out of the corner of his eyes, something that didn't belong there.

Men in suits, looking suspiciously like they belonged in a vague yet menacing government agency.

Loki reacted instinctively, casting a veil over himself. He was now a woman, looking very much like Darcy herself, all dark hair and green eyes.

The circle of students did a double take.

"They found me," Loki explained, his voice sounding like always to his ears even if he knew it would sound sultry and very womanly to everyone else. "_How_ did they find me?"

Darcy startled and looked to the side, suddenly sheepish. "That may have been my fault." She took out her phone, tapped something into it, and turned it around, letting him see.

A picture of him and her group of friends, published in Facebook with the caption, '_Guess who came to visit the U of M?_'

Loki could have killed her. "Get me out of here," he ground out, not believing his sheer bad luck to have met the only kid in the whole campus that would meet a fugitive and _post a picture of him and his location on the internet_. Seeing more people looking around sheepishly, he amended immediately, '_No, not the only one._'

The group nodded, parting and letting him through, leaving a straight path to the kitchen exit.

Loki wasted no time making himself invisible and running for it.

Getting out of the kitchen, especially when one had to navigate it invisible and people didn't move out of the way, proved a hard task, but he managed it, stealing a bag of apples on the way. They had been within easy reach, practically begging him to take them, and he didn't know when he would eat again.

He ran three blocks, dropping the veil as it required far too much concentration to maintain; then, as chance would have it, he saw a bus arriving to a stop, and he changed directions. He made sure to bump into someone on the way, stealing their wallet while he apologized profusely, and got on the bus with only seconds to spare.

Once inside, he saw that the bus had an electronic payment system, and touched the wallet to the reader, hoping whoever he had stolen the wallet from owned a pass and had money in it.

Miraculously, it went through, and Loki smiled triumphantly at the bus driver — who ignored him boredly — before finding an empty seat.

* * *

Since the wallet had a credit card in it, Loki decided to pamper himself and rent a hotel room.

He got off the bus about eight miles from the university, and began wandering the streets looking for a hotel. He found one easily and, since it looked nice enough, cast a veil on himself to look like the woman from the picture in the ID — he memorized the address in it, wanting to pay this Laura Benton girl back someday — and went to the front desk.

Once he had a room, he returned outside and found a Wal-Mart, where he bought two long-sleeved t-shirts, as his own were quite frayed and dingy under the armpits. He also bought some deodorant, having used his last can to set fire to a building as a distraction to slip the MCU's notice, and a pack of baby wipes, as he didn't foresee showering for the next few days, since he would be fleeing. The hotel was nice enough to have shampoo and conditioner, soap, a toothbrush and a tiny tube of toothpaste, so he didn't buy any of that.

Loki was returning to the hotel, wearing one of his new shirts, the other in the backpack slung over his shoulder, when he saw the boy.

The kid couldn't be older than eight, perhaps even as young as six. He had apparently been playing something soccer-like enough to have a ball, which was just out of this reach, rolling away from him in the direction of the street. The kid, oblivious to the danger, followed it blindly, determined to catch it.

Loki heard the car coming before he saw it, turning the corner at full-tilt.

_The kid was going to be right in its path in the next second._

He didn't even think, he just threw his hand out and released his magic.

The child slammed into a wall of pure concentrated power of will, stopping short of the street just in time for the car to whizz by. The ball wasn't so lucky; it burst with a loud pop upon being hit by the car, and the noise startled the kid into crying.

A woman, who had been watching the almost-accident in total panic-induced paralysis with her cellphone glued to her ear, stood up and once and ran to the kid, hugging him fiercely against her bosom.

Breathing hard, eyes still wide, Loki reined his power back in. Adrenaline rush gone, his knees gave out, and he collapsed in on himself. He just breathed for a while, screwing his eyes shut and mentally kicking himself for blowing his cover. He should have left that kid to die.

Just natural selection running its course. Why did he have to stop it? If they found him now, saving that one kid had just doomed not only him, but the entire magic community.

He shook his head, taking another deep breath, looking at the mother running her hands all over the kid, making sure he was alright.

Yeah, worth it.

"It was him!" he heard a voice say. "I saw him, his eyes glowed golden and everything!"

Loki looked up to find the source.

A man was pointing at him, the crowd that had gathered to watch the aftermath of the almost-accident turning their heads like one to stare at him.

He wasn't sure he liked what he saw in their eyes, and he stood up gracefully, raising his chin haughtily. Whatever happened now, happened; it was out of his hands. Loki would at least be able to sleep with a clean conscience.

"Sir," someone else said, "you are under arrest for unauthorized use of magic."

Loki turned to find a policewoman — the same policewoman who had ran him out of the park before. "I just saved that kid's life," he argued, but presented his hands, knowing better than to resists arrest. "Would you rather I had complied with the law and left him to die?" The street was too crowded to make a break for it, and his only way of escaping would be to use force.

The woman didn't meet his eyes, instead taking her handcuffs — golden, wretched things — and putting them around Loki's wrists. There, she found Tony's cuffs. "You are an escaped Arcanist," she accused, sounding angry. "You said you had lost your home."

Loki felt the difference immediately, his wrists burning. "In a way, I did," he contributed, shrugging unapologetically, not even bothering to tell her that Tony had _let him go_, because who would believe him? "I just misplaced it voluntarily."

The policewoman was not amused. "You have the right to remain silent," she said, tonelessly and professionally blank. "Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to an attorney. If you cannot afford an attorney, one will be provided for you. Do you understand the rights I have just read to you? With these rights in mind, do you wish to speak with me?"

With a tight-lipped smile, Loki shook his head slowly, disbelieving. "Yes, I understand." He rolled his eyes. This policewoman must not be used to arresting warlocks often, if she was Mirandizing him as though he had the same rights as zeros. "You do know I will be taken from you before we reach the precinct, right?" he drawled, amused.

The policewoman sneered at him, pulling him closer by the chain connecting his wrists. "You think you can get away just because I'm a woman?" she snarled, her breath fanning over his face.

Totally not what Loki had meant, but... "Sure. Whatever you want to believe," he said with a pleasant smile.

She pushed him away, backing him against a wall, and took out her radio. "Officer Owens speaking. I have arrested a suspected runaway arcanist in Northport Park," she said into it. "The perp is over six feet tall, with black hair and blue eyes."

"Sea-green, actually," Loki corrected, smiling privately, though internally he was panicking. Surely the MCU was listening in on police radios. This was it, they were coming for him.

The policewoman glared at him — it would have been impressive if Loki wasn't already used to Thanos and Castiglione's death glares, which could _actually_ kill — and added, "The perp wants to leave on record that his eyes are _sea-green_. Copy that?"

Loki was pretty sure she was mocking him, and he didn't know how that made him feel about her. She would probably fall to her knees in shock when she learned exactly who she had mocked so carelessly.

There were a few sniggers among the crackle of the radio, followed by, "Stand by. A patrol car will be dispatched soon."

Officer Owens was kind enough to allow Loki to sit down and eat one of his apples. He offered one to her, but she declined.

By the time a car approached, Loki had only managed to choke down only half of it, and it felt like a ball of lead in his stomach, which had closed up on itself in dread.

It wasn't a patrol car, as Loki had predicted. Instead, it was a nondescript black car. The door opened, and nondescript people came out, walking over to where Loki and Owens were waiting.

"Officer Owens?" one of them said, taking out his badge and showing it to her. "I am Agent Phillip Coulson of the MCU, I have come to relieve you of your prisoner."

She frowned. "I was not aware that S.H.I.E.L.D. was interested in petty cases of Arcanists playing hooky."

Loki chuckled. "Ah, but I'm no petty criminal, Officer," he said, returning her Cuffs to her, having broken out of them two seconds after she had allowed him to rummage through his backpack. "Phil," he greeted amiably. "Nice to see you have recovered well from your _blood loss_," he gave the words air quotes.

Coulson's lips twitched. "Good to finally see you too, Loki."

The policewoman gasped, turning fearful eyes on Loki.

"Boo." Loki winked at her, waving cheerily.

She took a step away, looking at the cuffs in her hands and then back at Loki's uncuffed wrists.

"Get in the car, Loki," Coulson instructed.

A woman with red hair opened the back door, indicating Loki should go there.

Loki recognized her as Natasha Romanov, the Black Widow, and knew there was no escape now. He simply grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his shoulder, and walked towards the car, joining her. "I believe you'll be wanting this?" he asked pleasantly, offering the bag.

"Thank you," she said, her face expressionless like a white wall. "It's nice to finally have some cooperation." She took the bag and opened it, rummaging through it.

Loki laughed. "I guessed. You may keep the food, if you want, but please return the books to me. They are a gift for my owner." He paused for effect. "Tony Stark?" He smiled.

She didn't return it.

* * *

The room Loki was taken to was drab and grey, as well as underground.

They didn't put Loki in cuffs because they didn't need to: the facility sat on top of an underground river, and there was water going through pipes under the floors of every level. The running water did more to suppress the magic than any cuff or sigil ever could, and did it more naturally, to boot, allowing the magic to flow out gently, like a caress.

The gentleness of the treatment didn't make it any less effective, though, and Loki had been rendered magic-less within the first fifteen minutes.

They had kept his backpack, whoever _they_ may be, which meant that Loki's only entertainment was to meditate. And since there was no magic to reach back for him, no reassuring presence of something bigger than he, than his meager mortal troubles, there was no point in meditating either.

So he just sat there, cross-legged on the floor, as no one had thought to provide him with a chair.

After some time — possibly an hour but Loki couldn't be sure — the heavy slab of a door squealed open on unoiled hinges, and someone walked in.

Loki raised his head slowly, as if he couldn't be bothered, and looked upon the intruder. A slow grin spread over his face, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "Well, well, well, what have we here?" he drawled, licking his lips. "Little old me merits a visit from the head honcho himself?"

Director Fury looked at him like Loki was the scum on the sole of his shoe but he cared too little to remove it. "In case it's unclear, if you try to escape, if you so much as scratch the cement," the corner of his mouth twitched, revealing his smugness, "the chamber will be flooded with nerve gas."

Loki looked around curiously, spotting the air vents now that Fury had mentioned them. Hey, at least they would kill him, instead of promising eternal torture. "It's an impressive cage," he admitted, chuckling slightly, not caring either way. The ball was rolling, whether Loki died or no. "Not built, I think, for me," he grinned, guessing where he was.

"Built for something a lot stronger than you," Fury confirmed.

Loki's eyebrows rose. Strength was relative, but Fury didn't seem to appreciate that. He only understood the strength of the teeth, not that of the tongue. "Oh, I've heard," he purred, leaning back, playing at being completely comfortable even in this position. "_Project P.E.G.A.S.U.S._," he licked his lips, smirking. "These are the facilities where you intend to put the _mythical six_ when you find them, to _re-educate_ them." He chuckled.

Fury regarded him silently, his face betraying nothing.

"How desperate are you," Loki wondered, the smile still big and mocking on his face, "that you think you can call on them to defend you?"

In his mind's eye, he saw Castiglione, trapped in this room like him. A rank five was like an endless spring of magic — standing beside them felt the same as being next to a massive telluric current. Trying to drain her magic with water would be like trying to drain the oceans through a hose. She would decimate this place and all the surrounding areas up to a hundred miles in radius with a wave of her hand, for she was Death incarnate.

"How desperate am I?" Fury asked, his eye narrowing. "You talk about peace and equality, but I know what you really want." He scoffed. "You threaten my world with civil war."

Loki felt like laughing. Did Fury truly think Loki wanted something as useless as _war?_ Oh, how petty he was, how tiny his ambitions. "It burns you, does it not?" he asked, drawling, his voice full of mockery. "To have come so close to total dominion over my people, over magic; so close to having nearly unlimited power. And then be reminded by a mere rank three _orphan_ of what real power is."

Real power, Loki's power, wasn't in his strength, in his magic, or in the numbers of his armies. It was in his intimate knowledge of what made people tick. It was in his ability to bring about not war, but _change_. Change that had been sorely needed to repair the great travesty committed upon magic users. Loki had something more powerful than strength of numbers or of his magic: he knew how regimes fell.

And he had already given the current administration just the push it needed to teeter over into nothingness.

Apparently understanding that he would get no satisfaction out of needling Loki, Fury turned around. "Well, let me know if _real power _wants a magazine or something," he bit out, leaving.

The door closed behind him with the finality of soil falling over a coffin.

Loki couldn't help but wonder if Tony would come and save him again, before laughing at his own naiveté, ruthlessly crushing even that small sliver of hope.

No one would save him this time. Probably, no one even knew he needed saving.

He would have to save himself.

* * *

**AN: **Mwahahaha, I'm so evil. I love cliffhangers ;P There you go, 7k. For the next chapter, I ask for 4 reviews (i.e. chapter 12 will be posted when the reviews hit 30). That's one in ten of you people. I know you can do it :)


	13. Chapter 12

**AN:** Yeah, you know what? If I wait for you people to come up with four whole reviews I'll be waiting forever. Look how long it took you to write three... I'm posting this today. Next chapter will be posted two days from now, and the epilogue will be posted two days after that. Or you can read it over at ao3, I don't even care anymore.

* * *

One week before the expo, most of the prototypes were ready, and Tony even had a few market-ready items of the ImagiNE line to present, home appliances like washing machines and, yes, fridges. Therefore, Tony had given his engineers and his arcanists — who were given dud cuffs now to wear outside, as the real ones had been taken off early in their association, after heavy screening — the day off to do what they wanted.

Bruce had chosen to stay behind, mostly because, as he told Tony, he had literally nothing better to do — no family to visit, no friends, no significant other to ask out. Tony was delighted, and they stayed behind in the lab, and Tony ordered sushi because then it would be "like a science date!"

Soon they began talking about more projects, which turned to Bruce asking how the ARC reactors worked, which turned to Tony explaining and griping about how platinum was the only suitable core yet got depleted so fast when he used the Iron Man suit, which turned to trying to find an alternative core.

It was a hard few days, after that, full of dead ends and frustration on both parts, until Tony ended up realizing that the to-scale model of the 1974 Stark Expo that was floating around since they had taken it out for inspiration was actually a not-to-scale model of an atom. JARVIS checked, and, sure enough, it was a new element that could be used to power an ARC reactor.

'_Howard, you bastard_,' Tony thought, shaking his head at the cognitive dissonance. How could a man with such a brain have been such an enormous failure at being a decent human being? Then he had shaken it out of his head and all but ran to tell Bruce.

Bruce scoffed when Tony told him, because, as he put it, "All elements are accounted for, Tony. That's what the periodic table is for. The most _new_ anything we can get is an isotope." But he was still curious, Tony could tell.

Tony wouldn't be so excited at his dad having imagined a weird isotope unless it was for a reason, and he knew Bruce knew that. He answered, "Have some faith, my science bro. If all fails, at least we can say we got to play with a particle accelerator," with a huge grin.

Yeah, Bruce was sold after that.

And, hey, who would have known, his green alter ego was pretty handy at tearing down the necessary stuff to set the apparatus up.

They had to destroy half the lab to make it, but the "new element" was the most gorgeous thing Tony had even seen, aside from maybe the disc of quartz shining from his chest. They refrained from baptizing it, not wanting to jinx it, and slotted a piece of it into the ARC reactor of one of the Iron Man suits to see if it would work.

It did. Like a dream.

Then Pepper called, reminding Tony that, since the Expo had his name on it, he would be the one to give the opening speech.

Which meant actually _writing it_. And memorizing it. And not staying behind to play with the new element — or "new isotope," as Bruce insisted on calling it.

Playfully pouting and mimicking crying at Bruce, who was standing there trying not to laugh, Tony replied that Pepper's lack of faith was killing him, and that he had already wrote the speech — a blatant lie, as he had completely forgotten about it.

As soon as Pepper hung up, interrupted by her new beau, Happy (who was now also her bodyguard instead of Tony's), Tony retired to his desk in the penthouse to write the speech, leaving Bruce in the lab having all the fun discovering the properties of the unnamed element ("Isotope, Tony!").

One day and three drafts later, he gave up on the whole thing, balled up the holographic document and tossed it in the holographic basketball hoop JARVIS was programmed to show every time it looked like Tony wanted to trash something. The satisfying bells and whistles when the not-paper ball went through cheered him up slightly, and he returned to the lab.

Doing science with Bruce was infinitely more fun and productive than attempting to write a speech appropriate enough for the momentous occasion yet not hollow like most opening speeches.

While he and Bruce tested the element for piezoelectricity, Tony absently wished Loki was there with them. If not testing the element for magical properties, at least writing Tony's speech for him.

And then he froze, realizing that he hadn't seen Loki in some time. Had Loki stopped making his videos?

"Tony?" Bruce asked, his brow wrinkled. "What's wrong?"

"Loki," Tony answered immediately, not paying attention to what he was saying or to whom — yes. he trusted Bruce that much.

"What about him?" Bruce tilted his head, looking faintly reminiscent of a confused puppy.

Tony waved a dismissive hand at him, telling him it was nothing he should worry about, and turned to the screens. "J, be a dear and look up what happened to Loki."

"You know Loki?" Bruce asked, apparently not getting what the hand-wavy gesture was about.

"Yeah," Tony answered, sitting down on the stool next to him. "We've saved each other's hides a couple times. Taught me everything I know about magic. Why?"

Bruce bit his lip and shook his head. "No reason. But a lot of things about you suddenly make sense."

Tony raised his eyebrows, looking at Bruce out of the corner of his eye. "Do I want to know?"

Cracking a smirk, Bruce looked away, returning to his work. "Probably not."

Oh, really? "Now I definitely want to know," Tony said, sneakily grabbing a pen and jabbing Bruce in the side, since he couldn't reach him without it. "Tell me," he demanded.

Bruce swatted the pen away, laughing. "No, really, it's nothing."

Tony fixed him with a pointed stare, eyebrows still high on his forehead. He waved the pen threateningly at his Bruce. "Science bros don't keep secrets from one another," he reminded, making up the rule on the spot — hey, he'd never had a science bro before, he didn't know proper protocol.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "Fine, fine. It explains why you suddenly became all pro-magic after vanishing for two months," he said quickly, looking away at the screen and biting his lip. "I heard he's quite the convincing fellow. Stephen is very proud of him, and he talks a lot about how he used to be."

Tony didn't know how to answer that, so he didn't, merely stopping the poking threat and dropping the pen. He found he couldn't quite look at Bruce either.

"I guess it explains a lot about Loki, too. Stephen said he used to be pretty, uh," Bruce cleared his throat, "idealistic as a kid, but then he disappeared for fifteen years. Maybe your support of magic inspired him again."

That was a new one. Tony had only considered his side of the coin, where Loki manipulates him into being a better man and, as a side effect, backing the pro-magic cause. But Bruce was right, in a way, and also wrong.

Loki had already been planning on returning freedom to practice magic to the country. He had just been going about it in an amazingly convoluted way, plans with so many parts that they broke all laws of probability by working. He had never been one for the in-your-face approach, unlike Tony.

Bruce was half right. Loki had become visibly proactive_ after _Tony had started going around, shutting down the manufacture of lethal weapons — practically wiping his ass on the military contracts and not caring who knew about it — and outright _helping_ magic users by providing them with safety networks and asylum. Loki had begun the coup, the mass freeing of the State Arcanists, and the videos, after Tony lost all credibility with the Columbia thing, after his movement had lost its most powerful voice.

Loki was picking up the slack — or he _had_ been, at least, and would again as soon as Tony figured out what had made him stop and solved it.

"Tony?" Bruce called, pulling him out of his reverie.

Tony shook his head. "Yeah, yeah, you are right," he said, smiling faintly. "I inspired him to show his face—" He cut himself off, frowning. "And that's how they got him," he finished, sighing, "because he was trying to copy me."

"You don't know that they got him," Bruce said, turning in his chair to look at Tony.

"Actually, Dr. Banner," JARVIS piped, "Mr. Stark is right. A group of S.H.I.E.L.D. agents is holding him in Minnesota. "

* * *

Tony wasted no time in getting the suit on, leaving Bruce alone to tinker and — he liked to think — worry about Tony while he shot off to Minnesota.

He had strategically placed the contract of Loki's five year lease in the back pocket of his jeans, folded up neatly, just in case he needed it for them to hand Loki over, which had been Bruce's idea because he was awesome like that. Tony now had a new appreciation for planning ahead, which he didn't tend to do much.

JARVIS related the circumstances of Loki's 'arrest' — yeah, they were calling it that, the assholes — to Tony while they flew, making him all the angrier. Apparently, some asshole had reported Loki for use of magic because he had stopped a car from hitting some imbecile's kid who had wandered onto the street.

(Tony made JARVIS repeat that, because, _really_, helping little kids cross the street safely? What was next, getting cats down from trees?)

But the thing that smarted the most, and that would also make getting Loki out easy as pie, was that they hadn't contacted Tony despite knowing, because Loki had kept on wearing Tony's name on two bracelets around his wrists, that he belonged to Stark Industries.

Tony thought about shooting over the wall surrounding the facility and landing in the front hall, but he refrained, instead decreasing his speed and coming to a stop at the front gate. He hovered horizontally above the ground, face up, in the same pose of someone sunbathing.

A guard, gun _and_ rifle included, walked over to him. "Sir, this is private property. You are not authorized to enter." He spoke firmly, standing with his back straight and shoulders squared. Despite being clearly of Asian descent, he reminded Tony of Rhodey.

"Funny you should bring up private property," Tony commented idly, turning his head towards the soldier and staring him down with Iron Man's grim, stony expression, "considering you have something that belongs to me."

The guard, not visibly intimidated — Asian people were hard to read, so Tony could bet he was quaking in his boots — wrinkled his brow. Apparently, he had had no idea. "I will check. Please park your... vehicle to the side, Sir."

Tony snorted behind the faceplate. It was the first time someone (other than himself) was so completely glib when speaking about his suit, and it made him like Mr. Asian Soldier a lot. "Will do." He flew off to the side and 'parked' his 'vehicle', letting it open along the seam in the back and walking backwards out of it.

When he returned to the guard cabin, whistling casually and hands in his pockets, the guard was waiting for him. Upon spotting Tony, he motioned him over and lifted the barrier for him.

Tony winked and shot him finger guns at him in acknowledgement, stepping through.

Soldier Boy came with him.

"It's alright, I know the way," Tony said, smiling professionally at him. He wanted him gone — he hated being escorted by a nanny.

"It's protocol, Mr. Stark," the other answered tiredly, moving in front of Tony as they approached the building and holding the door open for him.

Tony followed him. "Yeah, I know the feeling," he said, too used to people opening doors for him to protest.

Together they traveled to an underground level, where the offices were apparently held, and Tony was delivered to a badly lit and unimaginatively decorated room. Grey walls, cement floor, one table with two chairs, the works.

Without waiting for instruction, Tony plopped down in one of the chairs — the one facing the door. It was made to be uncomfortable, but he sprawled in it nonetheless, showing he was utterly unperturbed by the setup. Tony was a hoopy frood, no cold metal chair and boring grey walls could defeat him.

Secret Asian Man watched him, unimpressed, for a moment, before walking outside and closing the door.

Fifteen minutes later, Tony was still alone in the room, and fuming.

They, whoever ran the place, made Tony _wait_. It could have been a power play — he was fond of the same tactic, as a way to impress upon whoever that they weren't as important as him — but somehow he doubted it. More likely, he thought, it was due to Tony's impromptu visit: he hadn't given them time to make Loki presentable. That thought was what made him angry.

At last, someone came through the door. Black guy, dressed in leather, with an eye patch, and...

"Agent Coulson," Tony announced, "I haven't even been offered a glass of water — your service sucks, I want my money back. By the way," he kicked the single chair opposite him, making it skid out from under the table, "unless Captain Black Bart over there," he let his head loll in Black Guy's general direction, "has hemorrhoids, we are one chair short."

Coulson did his little polite paper-pusher smile. "Mr. Stark, allow me to introduce Nicholas Fury, Director of S.H.I.E.L.D."

Fury did a jaunty little wave, which was so completely at odds with the grim set of his face that Tony had to bite the inside of his cheek to hold back the smile.

"Consider Nick introduced," Tony said, not changing his position. "Now. You have something here that belongs to me." He smiled his media smile. "I want it back."

Fury and Coulson shared a look, and then Fury took the seat, giving Tony the same expression a headmaster might give the usual troublemaker.

Coulson turned on his feet and walked out the door, closing it behind himself, leaving Tony alone with the Dread Pirate.

Tony's dangerous, pleasant smile fell off his face, and his regarded Fury stonily.

Fury stared back.

Tony blinked and shook his head. "Sorry," he said, his voice sounding explosively loud in the tense silence, "I never know whether to look at your eye or the patch." He shrugged irreverently.

Fury could have been carved out of wood and he would still show as much reaction.

"How's that work, by the way? Shooting with no depth perception?" Tony covered one eye with a hand, raising the other one and moving it back and forth, as if trying to gauge distances impaired. Then he dropped his hands, cutting his mock-curious tone. "Oh, that's right, you pay other people to do your shooting for you."

Fury's visible eye narrowed almost imperceptibly. "And you, Mr. Stark?" he asked, "do _you_ pay people to do your shooting?"

Huh? What was Fury getting at? "Oh, look, it speaks!" he muttered at the table. "Yeah, I do. You wouldn't believe amount of taxes I pay," he rolled his eyes, sighing, sure that the unwelcome familiarity would bother Fury. "Now, I'm no _expert_, but I'm pretty sure some of that tax money goes to funding law enforcement and the military." He smiled innocently. "Category which your organization falls under."

Fury was unimpressed. "Don't be cute, Mr. Stark," he chastised, his upper lip curling slightly in disgust.

Tony shrugged. "Then don't take my stuff," he said simply, unamused, his eyes boring into Fury's single one.

Nostrils flaring, Fury rested his hands on the table and stood up, his chair teetering on the brink of balance before settling down again. "You expect me to believe _you_, of all people, consider a State Arcanist '_your stuff_'?" he asked—no, he _growled._

Taking the contract from his pocket and slapping it down onto the table, Tony replied. "Your_ government_ sure does. Besides, he wears my name on his jewelry." He sat back, tapping a rhythm onto his thighs casually. "So give him back already."

Fury took the contract, and for a moment it looked like he was going to rip it in half, but no; he opened it, and read it, his mouth twisting more and more the further down he got.

'_Yeah, my Pepper is a clever girl_,' Tony thought proudly.

Instead of using the standard Lease of Arcanist contract, Pepper had drafted her own, detailing, among other excellent clauses, how the arcanist leased would have total freedom as long as he or she was wearing Stark Industry cuffs and identifier, and how, should the arcanist be arrested, S.I. was to be notified immediately and the arcanist handed over for disciplinary measures.

Both provisions that S.H.I.E.L.D. had conveniently forgotten to uphold.

Fury looked like he had been given half a lemon and told at gunpoint to squirt it in his single remaining eye. He folded the contract and returned it to Tony.

Tony took it without saying anything, merely giving Fury a pointed look, as if saying, '_Well? Where is Loki? Give him back already._'

"You _are_ aware," Fury began, "of the subversive nature of your property's acts?"

"I am," Tony nodded.

Fury nodded along. "And he was acting under _your_ instruction?"

Ah. Now Tony saw what the getting-other-people-to-shoot-for-him jab was all about. Fury thought Tony had actually _told_ Loki to wreak havoc on the people's opinion of the government, to help along his own cause, when it was actually exactly the other way around.

"Yep," Tony lied, grinning easily. "Since, you know, arcanists are so like cattle that they can't have ideologies, let alone the free will." He shrugged. "Go ahead. Blame me for it. I'll just stop the funding you are still getting from my company." He smiled guilelessly. "But here's some advice, free of charge: don't meddle in the affairs of wizards, they are subtle and easy to piss off," he paraphrased from The Lord of the Rings, giving Fury a wink.

Fury narrowed his eye at Tony, taking his measure, and walked over to the door. He paused half-way through going out and turned his head to huff at Tony like an angry bull. "Are you coming or what, Stark?"

* * *

Fury pawned Tony off to a soldier — not Secret Asian Guy or Coulson, sadly — with instructions to take him to '_Real Power_', whatever that meant.

Tony followed, trying and probably failing not to seem too eager — hey, he was allowed to, he hadn't seen Loki in _ages_. Luckily, the guide person that led him through the tunnels with ruthless efficiency was too much of a perfect soldier to look back at Tony's face.

"Are we there yet?" Tony asked, managing to make it sound like a joke rather than the honest question it was.

Suddenly, the soldier came to a stop.

Tony almost crashed into him, managing to catch himself at the last moment. "I take it we are," he muttered sarcastically, watching the soldier open the door.

It creaked at it opened, the sound chilling Tony's blood, and revealed a dark room.

Loki was sitting on the floor, his back against a wall. His hair, which they hadn't bothered to shave off, was not only oily with lack of washing and disheveled like it hadn't seen a comb in ten years, it was also _curly_. The V-neck t-shirt he was wearing, green and baggy and stained, made him look kinda like a pirate in the cover of a romance novel. The rest of him was just as dirty. And he was wearing _sweatpants._

The curly mass of hair Tony could forgive, mainly because it worked with Loki's prominent cheekbones and sunken eyes to make him look vulnerable and needy, which Tony found very appealing. But the sweatpants? The loose t-shirt? On a man who had never worn anything less casual than pressed dark jeans and a button-up shirt? No. It was a violation of the highest order.

Still, Tony managed to calm his tits and contain his outrage. "Hello, Grindewald," he called, waving cheerily.

Loki's head lolled to the side dispassionately, and then he spotted Tony. It was easy to tell when, because Loki's eyes widened and he jumped to his feet, hurrying towards Tony. "What are you doing here?" he demanded in a harsh whisper, grabbing Tony's shirt.

Totally not the reaction Tony had been expecting. "Uh, saving your ass? Again?" he offered, laying a hand on Loki's, silently telling to lay off the violence.

"_You can't be here_," Loki hissed, poking his head out and looking around. He spotted Mr. Guide Person and visibly recoiled, his chapped lips tightening. Then, resigned, he met Tony's gaze and leaned close, whispering near his face. "This place is built to wash away magic," he said, tugging on the front of Tony's shirt pointedly. "You need to leave."

Huh? Wait — oooh, the Heartstone. Tony's eyes widened. "Oh, fuck," he breathed. "Get your stuff, we're blowing this popsicle stand." If his beautiful chestpiece stopped working because he had come into this facility to get his property back, there would be hell to pay.

Loki shook his head, looking miserable. "They took my stuff," he ground out bitterly. "Go." He let go of Tony, pushing him backwards. "Send someone to get me after."

Yeah, no, Tony wasn't about to do that. He pulled his shirt away from his chest and peered down the opening.

The stone was still glowing, but the light was noticeably fainter. Almost nonexistent.

Fuck, fuck. Tony turned around and poked Mr. Guide on the shoulder. "Hey, you. Get me Loki's stuff—"

"A red backpack," Loki supplied, cutting in.

"—yeah, what he said, red backpack," Tony finished. "Come on, hop to it! I'll be waiting outside."

The soldier didn't move. "I am under orders to escort you out," he said robotically.

Tony could have throttled him. "Yes, fine, do that," he granted, grabbing Loki by the wrist — it was so thin he could practically feel the bones grinding together under the skin — and pulling him along.

Pushed by Tony's urgency, they left the compound at a brisk walk, the soldier escorting them to the guardhouse by the entrance before going back inside to retrieve Loki's stuff.

Tony and Loki stumbled onto the outside of the barrier, where the magic-diluting properties of the land turned off, and rested against the wall, panting.

After a while, Tony peered down his shirt, finding the reassuring glow of the quartz as strong as ever. He sagged in relief, laughing. "That was the stupidest thing I've ever done," he chuckled, patting the stone lovingly and congratulating himself of doing such awesome work when making it.

Loki, apparently much recovered, broke out in giggles. "And you called a rank four alchemist 'tiny' and then said that you liked the dreadlocks."

"Pffft. Oh, god, I had forgotten about Izumi," Tony agreed, guffawing.

His laughter set Loki off again, and he let out a huge bout of laughter that burst out of him like bubbles, grabbing at the wall and leaning against Tony for support.

Taking deep breaths, occasionally having a fit of sniggers, Tony finally came down from his high. "Oh, boy, that chick," he murmured, grinning. "Tiny, but fierce. I miss her." He hummed pensively, looking into the far-off distance, and then turned to regard Loki. "I don't think I've ever heard you laugh like that," he commented.

Loki turned his head as well, a genuine smile on his lips and in his eyes. He looked at Tony, but didn't say anything. Then, without warning, he leaned the last few inches sideways and kissed Tony.

It came out of left field, and Tony inhaled sharply through his nose, his eyes widening. Then he remembered, '_Right, our little tradition_,' and let himself enjoy it, cupping the back of Loki's neck gingerly and tilting his face just enough that their mouths slotted together seamlessly.

He fancied he tasted sparks of magic on his lips.

After about four seconds, when Universal Chaste Kiss Protocol dictated they should pull back, Loki did, but only enough so that he could kiss Tony again, melting into him with a gentle groan, his hand going to Tony's upper arm, holding him as if he might go away.

He wouldn't. In fact, Tony let out an appreciative little moan and turned against the wall so he was facing Loki with his full body, not just his head. His blood was rushing in his ears, and all he could think was, '_Yes, finally!_' He pulled Loki closer by his neck, opening his mouth slightly in invitation.

Loki took it, humming agreeably, and pressed himself closer, crowding Tony against the wall as he sucked Tony's bottom lip into his mouth. His other hand shyly curled at Tony's waist, cupping the spot right over the hipbone, his thumb stroking in little circles.

"Uh, excuse me, Sir?" someone said, tapping Tony's shoulder.

Loki and Tony sprang apart like they had been scalded.

It took a few seconds for Tony to gather his wits and stop staring at the speaker like a deer in headlights. "Yes?" he asked, his voice coming out as a hoarse croak. He cleared his throat, definitely not sneaking a glance at Loki and his red, wet lips, and tried again. "What do you want?"

"Mr. Olson's luggage, Sir," the speaker, a soldier, said, unable to meet either of their eyes. His ears red, and Tony didn't think it was because of spending a lot of time outdoors.

"Right," Loki said, wiping at his mouth discreetly, and took the proffered backpack. "Thank you, Soldier. Admirable attention to duty." The asshole's voice was smooth as ever, and he didn't even hesitate when delivering the quip, even going as far as to smile mockingly at the man.

Tony's lips, still all tingly from the kiss, pulled into a smirk. "Right. Well, if you excuse us," he told the soldier, who was still blushing, "we'll be going to that corner over there," he pointed to where he had left his suit, "to continue our PDA. Have a good day!" Without further ado, he grabbed Loki's wrist — _hand_, his hand, and pulled him over.

They didn't look at each other for the duration of the small trip, knowing they would burst into giggles as soon as they did.

"_Continue our PDA?_" Loki quoted, snorting and covering his mouth.

Tony laughed. "_Admirable attention to duty?_" he parried, grinning, his shoulders shaking. "Oh, man, that was a good one."

Loki smiled at him, his eyes all soft around the edges, and didn't say anything.

Strangely, the silence was comfortable.

Then, at last, he broke it. "I didn't think you'd come for me again," he confessed, looking down, away from Tony's eyes. One of his hands rubbed at the inside of the elbow of his other arm. Defensive.

Tony shrugged. "No big deal," he said, looking down at his feet, watching the shapes they trailed in the soil as he shuffled uncomfortably. "Took me a while to work out you even needed saving." He shrugged again, the motion just as defensive as Loki's arm across his abdomen, and looked up at just an inch to the right of Loki's face. "Gotta say, though, the damsel-in-distress thing suits you." He grinned.

Loki barked out a laugh, dropping his hand until it hung from the waistband of his pants, hooked there on the thumb. "And you get to be the knight in _literal_ shining armor," he drawled.

Tony, smiling, dared to look up at him, and found Loki's eyes were almost all pupils as they looked back, just a thin ring of sea-green decorating them. "I should save your more often, if only for the reward." He wondered if his own eyes were as blown, betraying his attraction to the object of it in question.

Not saying anything, Loki reached out and placed a fingertip under Tony's chin, delicately tilting his face up as he stepped forward.

Tony's breath got quicker, and he closed his eyes, anticipating the kiss.

But Loki's lips landed on Tony's forehead instead, the finger falling off Tony's skin and disappearing.

When Tony opened his eyes, Loki wasn't there anymore.

"You bastard," Tony murmured, closing his eyes again and shaking his head. "Why did I have to fall for such a circus act?" he wondered, before rubbing at his face with his hands and then shaking his head. "Fine. I'm going home. Hope you have a good life, asshole," he grumbled, stepping into the suit and flying off.

He was pretty sure he would find Loki again, and the notion made him smile.

A man didn't kiss someone like Loki had kissed Tony moments ago and then disappear forever.

* * *

Bruce greeted him with coffee and sheets upon virtual sheets of data about their new element ("_Isotope_, Tony."), which they began chatting about immediately.

Tony was infinitely grateful to his science bro for not asking the tough questions — he'd known there was a reason he had a mancrush on him. The science helped get his mind off Loki, even when he found himself staring dumbly at nothing, his finger brushing over his lips as if trying to make sure the kiss had really happened.

Between him and Bruce, they managed to convince a car to float in time for the Expo, even if it could do it only for ten minutes or so before falling down again. Still, it was more success than Howard had ever managed, so Tony counted it as half a win.

Before he knew it, it was time for the opening ceremony, and he still had no speech ready.

Well, he'd just have to wing it.

* * *

Tony could see the crowd even from a thousand feet up in the air. It was a liquid mass of tiny heads, filling every corner available around the stage, and even the footpaths radiating from the Unisphere.

Dropping through the air filled with fireworks was an experience unlike any other Tony had ever had. Not only the fun of avoiding them, but seeing them simply exploding next to him, flying literally _through_ the fireworks, something he had always fantasized of doing as a kid, was _exhilarating_.

At last, though, he landed on the stage, slowing only enough that he wouldn't dent the landing pad or the suit, and the resulting _clang!_ startled the crowd into silence for maybe one second. Then Tony raised his arms, triumphant, victory signs on each hand, playing up the crowd, and a veritable _wall of noise_ slammed into him.

Wow. This must be what Malcolm and Angus Young felt in the concert in River Plate in 2009.

The pad broke off into parts, robotic hands undoing the suit from around Iron Man, taking it away, revealing Tony, the mere mortal who wasn't really all that _mere_.

Tony turned around, watching the scantily-clad Ironettes dancing to the rhythm of AC/DC's _Shoot to Thrill_, enjoying the view.

The music had possessed them, and they looked like they were having the time of their lives too, just like Tony.

Tony grinned at them, winking at all of them when the song ended and they started filing out of the stage, leaving him along with the public — with the mob of Iron Man fans yelling his name over and over. He turned to them, feeling touched that most of them were wearing the gloves with the lights that looked like Iron Man's repulsors. "It's good to be back!" he greeted. "You missed me."

The crowd screamed their approval. As they quieted, a male voice called, "Blow something up!" sounding extremely loud in the silence.

"Blow something up?" Tony repeated, amused, shaking his head. That wasn't the only thing he was good at! "I already did that!" he said. They could take that as they wanted.

The crowd tittered, but quieted down at last. The silence was expectant. They were waiting for Tony's words of wisdom.

"I'm not saying that the world is enjoying its longest period of uninterrupted peace in years because of me," he began.

Like a drove of sheep being led by the shepherd, the people roared.

Tony stood with his hands behind his back, enjoying the feedback. "I'm not saying," he continued, slightly louder, shutting up the crowd, "that our country is seeing its first widespread movement towards magic equality in _history _because of me."

The crowd went absolutely _wild._

Tony spread his arms and bowed his head, accepting the praise. '_Ah, validation... how sweet your taste_,' he thought.

Someone yelled, "I love you, Tony!"

Touching. So his fans were also magic supporters... This was good. This was _awesome. _"Please," Tony said, raising his hand to ask for silence. "It's not about me."

Shouts and whistling were Tony's answer.

"It's not about _you_," he added.

That seemed to confuse them, and the screaming stopped shortly.

"It's not even about us," Tony explained, his hands behind his back. "It's about legacy."

The throng of people remained silent, as if sensing that what he was about to say was important. Either that, or they were too puzzled by Tony's sudden philosophizing.

"It's about what we choose to leave behind," Tony continued, more serious now, "for future generations. Do we leave to them a world rife with war and social injustice? A world where the use of magic is allowed only to those with power and money?"

That woke the mob up. "No!" they booed, screaming, showing Tony thumbs down.

Tony smiled, proud of them, of how much they had learned. "And that's why we at Stark Industries have decided to produce the new ImagiNE line, which incorporates magic, yes, you heard right, _magic_, into the design, to give magic back to the people, so that future generations might enjoy it!

"Yeah!" the crowd roared, clapping.

"For the next year," Tony continued, "and for the first time since 1974, the best and brightest men and women of nations and corporations the world over will pool their resources, share their collective vision, to leave behind a brighter, more magical future. It's not about us!" Tony repeated.

"Hell yeah!" one guy yelled, audible above the notice of the horde.

Tony pointed at him and winked, before returning to the mass of people for his final address. "Therefore, what I am saying, if I'm saying anything, is... Welcome back to the Stark Expo!"

The crowd cheered wildly.

Then, as Tony was about to turn around to leave the stage, all the lights went out, plunging the whole of Flushing Downs into the most complete darkness.


	14. Chapter 13

**AN: **Cinnigan, dear, since this is the only way I have to answer you... I'm sorry you lost valuable study time over this fic. I'm not sorry it enticed you (entrapped you?) enough that you kept on reading, because that is the highest compliment ever :) You asked for it, you got it.

* * *

_"Welcome back to the Stark Expo!"_

_The crowd cheered wildly._

_Then, as Tony was about to turn around to leave the stage, all the lights went out, plunging the whole of Flushing Downs into the most complete darkness_.

The crowd cheered, thinking it was part of the show.

Tony, who knew it wasn't so, suddenly wished he hadn't taken off the suit. He had no idea what could possibly be going wrong, and he put himself on guard, unable to reach for the landing pad as the meager lights of the audience's toy repulsors wasn't enough to penetrate the pitch-black darkness.

Suddenly, someone spoke.

"America," the voice drawled, all molten chocolate and velvet and gravel, "look how _far_ you've come."

Tony gasped, recognizing the speaker, his eyes widening.

The audience, apparently recognizing him as well, started whistling and screaming.

"Lining up in the sweltering heat for hours just to see a magic trick," Loki continued, his voice spilling from the speakers, "when before you would have huddled together in the dark in _fear!_"

There was a flash of light, illuminating the stage — empty but for Tony in his business suit — and blinding Tony briefly. The crowd screamed its lungs out. Not in terror, no; it sounded like the kind of scream children make when the roller coaster comes to the top and begins the drop.

Another flash, and this time, Loki was there, glowing staff in hand, dressed in his a black leather trench coat that billowed in an unnatural wind.

The fans went wild, shouting and hooting and screaming and stamping their feet. From somewhere in the mob, the chant of "Loki! Loki! Loki!" began, and it spread over the whole of Flushing Downs, until everyone was chanting in unison.

Loki beamed at the recognition, raising his arms, accepting the praise. He was practically _glowing_, and Tony didn't think it was just because of the way all the reflectors were focused on him.

Tony smirked. Why had he ever thought Loki preferred the way of the puppeteer? Nah, Loki was a total diva. A bit like Tony himself, actually.

Then Loki lifted a hand, touching his index finger to his lips.

As if he had turned off a switch, the chanting stopped. The people were silent, expectant.

"I am Loki," Loki said needlessly, as everyone in the crowd, everyone in the _Magic for the People_ movement, knew his name. "I am a wizard and a warlock, and I am burdened with glorious purpose."

The crowd was getting loud again, screaming itself hoarse.

Loki paused a moment, waiting for them to calm down, taking the chance to stride around the stage, commanding the attention of everyone. "Of fighting, like you," he continued when he could be heard over the noise, "against the tradition of enslaving magic users to the whims of a few!"

'_Nice_,' thought Tony, sarcastically. '_Loki's turned my opening ceremony into a political rally. Typical_,' he scoffed, stuffing his hands in his pockets and watching on.

Some girl in the public whistled particularly loudly, and Loki shushed her. As if spellbound — or maybe _actually_ spellbound, who knew — she shut up, eyes wide. The mob followed suit.

Satisfied, Loki continued. "Your ears!" he shouted suddenly, and Tony stopped breathing, "_yearn_ for untold stories!" He smirked, surveying the people like a king does his court. "Your eyes crave unseen sights." His voice got progressively softer. "Your imaginations ache and hunger."

There was a hypnotizing cadence to his speech, something that made people want to listen, not miss and thing. The crowd was in awe, mouths dropping open as Loki continued moving tantalizingly around the stage.

Tony reminded himself how to breathe.

Then Loki stopped cold, a dangerous, dark smile with far too many teeth spreading over his face. "Where are the Avengers now?" he purred, smug.

It went straight to Tony's groin, and he licked his lips. His mouth had gone dry. How did Loki have this effect on him? _How?!_

"Do they see they are not wanted here, nor needed?" Loki continued in his rumbling drawl, somehow managing to meet every eye in the audience, or so it seemed.

The crowd cheered their approval, and Tony shook his head, not quite managing to believe the sheer _command_ Loki had over people. (Was that a boner tenting the front of his suit?)

Loki shushed them, waving his hand dismissively. "Say my name," he instructed.

"Loki!" the throng of people answered at once.

Apparently it wasn't enough, because Loki shook his head, walking to the other end of the stage. "Say my name!" he ordered, making come-hither motions with a hand.

"Loki!" the people yelled again.

"Say my name!" Loki commanded, growling, returning to the center of the stage.

"LOKI!"

Tony bit his lip, staying quiet only because he knew how Loki worked. Besides, he was too busy imagining Loki saying that same thing, only in a moist whisper against Tony's ear... (Definitely a boner.)

Loki came to a stop, slamming his foot onto the stage, his legs spread to shoulder-width. He threw his arms out and tilted his head back, demanding, "_Say my name!_" with a hoarse scream.

"_LOKI!_" the crowd yelled at once, joyous, whistling.

Tony, entranced by Loki's expression, wondered if he looked the same when he was having an orgasm, or if only the power of the faith of eight thousand people could cause that. He'd have to find out, if Loki let him. For science, of course.

"My wife loves you!" someone shouted over the noise, making everyone chuckle.

Even Loki lost his holier-than-thou attitude and shared in the joke. "Tell her it's much appreciated," he grinned, before walking over to Tony, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a one-armed hug. "It seems, Tony, we have an army," he panted, sounded exhausted after his performance.

Thanks to the microphone, it carried to every speaker, and people laughed again.

Tony meanwhile, was trying to get his heartbeat under control. He couldn't help but be utterly _aware _of Loki's presence, his smell, the heat radiating from his body, the sound of harsh breathing. "Uh, hi," he managed at last, trying and succeeding in sounding annoyed rather than lost, "nice of you to remember I was here. What was your first clue, the banners with my name on them?"

The crowd cheered.

Loki laughed throatily, the proximity meaning Tony felt every shake of his chest, giving Tony a long, charged look before pulling away, but not wholly. He still had a hand on Tony's lower back when he spoke. "How could I forget you, my friend?" he asked the crowd, "when it is only thanks to you that the movement _Magic for the People_ finally found any traction?"

Tony smiled sheepishly at him, not pulling away, liking the reassuring — proprietary? — weight of Loki's hand on his person. "I suppose you can't, then," he joked, meeting his eyes. "Forget me, I mean."

Smiling a secretive little smile, Loki turned back to the crowd. "You have come here to experience something new. Something forbidden. So, go ahead!" he invited, gesturing to the buildings around them. "Explore! Mess up! Learn! Feast your eyes on the wonders that the union of magic and technology can bring!"

Loki's hand on Tony's back crept higher, until it lay between Tony's ribs, and it pushed him forward, making him bend at the waist. Loki bowed with him, his long hair spilling down from over his shoulders like ink.

The crowd clapped eagerly, still chanting Loki's or Tony's name even as they went backstage.

* * *

"So. You came back," Tony said as soon as they were away from the noise and hubbub of people. He had been trying for dispassionate, or casual at worst, but it came out hurt.

Loki's grin, which had still been on his face since his little spectacle, fell off. His face closed off, but the way he couldn't quite meet Tony's eyes belied how uncomfortable he really felt. "I apologize. I had some unfinished business to resolve before coming here."

Oh. That sounded suspiciously like Loki was planning on staying this time.

The notion made Tony ridiculously happy. "What kind of unfinished business?" he asked, curious.

Loki's eyes narrowed, as if he was judging whether or not Tony deserved the honor of prying. "I had to cancel my hotel room and return some money I borrowed from a very kind young lady," he said mysteriously. "And then procure transportation to New York."

Uh-huh. Tony didn't believe that for a second. "You stole her credit card too, didn't you?" he accused, grinning and poking Loki in the chest.

"Her whole wallet, actually." Loki looked perfectly unrepentant. "I had to use _your_ credit card to repay her, I hope you don't mind." He didn't sound at all like he cared if Tony minded. He reached into his back pocket and withdrew a credit card, offering it to him.

Tony looked at it with raised eyebrows, and saw it was the credit card Loki had stolen from him so long ago. "Oh, no, keep it," he said, returning it to Loki's hand. "I have more."

Loki sucked on the inside of his lips, as if not sure what to say next. Then, met Tony's eyes, a mischievous glint in his own, and said, "I'm not giving it back, I'm asking for another one." He pressed the card to Tony's chest, his hand flat over it, the warmth seeping right through Tony's shirt. "This one hit the limit."

Eyebrows raised, Tony laid his hand over Loki's, ostensibly to retrieve the card. "How much money could you possibly have owed?" he enquired, amused.

Loki's shoulders shook slightly as he bit back a smile. "I _borrowed_ stuff from a lot of people," he explained vaguely, his lips twitching, and removed his hand from under Tony's, stepping away.

Well. At least the warlock had a strict debt-repayment policy. Shaking his head, Tony took out his wallet and returned the card to the still-empty slot, before selecting another card and putting the wallet away. "Here you go. I expect you to repay me, too," he warned, handing the slip of plastic to Loki.

Loki looked the card over, eyebrows jumping slightly when he spotted it was a Black MasterCard. "Can I do so in sexual favors?" he asked absently, sounding a bit overwhelmed.

Tony choked on his own spit.

"I mean," Loki continued, pushing the card back into Tony's hand and looking away, "I have no other currency to offer you." His mouth turned bitterly. "It's not like I can get a paying job in this country, let alone buy my freedom back from you."

Oh. Right. Loki, as a State Arcanist, wasn't financially solvent, mainly because he wasn't legally allowed to even have money. And he was too proud and independent to just take Tony's.

Tony flipped the card from one finger to the other and then back, thinking. The solution was easy, but would Loki accept? Tony ran his tongue over his teeth, and then took a gamble. "As much as I'd appreciate the sexual favors, I've been looking to get more wizards on the thaumic R&D department," he commented. "Stark Industries employees are given board and food as part of their perks—"

"In exchange for having to deal with you?" Loki asked cuttingly, crossing his long arms over his chest.

"That was Pepper's reasoning, yes," Tony answered without breaking stride, smirking. "Of course, as you already technically belong to S.I., that means I can just put you to work there with no fuss. You'd get a place to live, and all the food you can eat." He offered Loki the credit card again.

Scowling, Loki turned his body slightly away from the card as if it disgusted him. "But no salary," he grumbled, arching an eyebrow, "I still cannot pay you back."

Tony grabbed Loki's hand, ignoring the little shocks he felt as his skin came in contact with Loki's, and, meeting no resistance, opened it. He placed the card on his palm and curled Loki's fingers around it, one by one.

"I cannot accept this, Tony," Loki murmured quietly, his shoulders hunching as if he was trying to make himself as small as possible to hide his inadequacy.

"You can, and you will," Tony retorted, patting Loki's fist before dropping his hands. "As I refuse to take credit for other's discoveries, every Arcanist working in S.I. owns the patents to whatever they invent." He said it casually, like he was explaining some law of physics to Loki.

Systems spontaneously evolve to have higher entropy, a conductor in a variable magnetic field creates a voltage in said conductor, something can't behave as both a wave and a particle at the same time, magic users working for Tony's company make money.

Loki stared at his fist, saying nothing.

Seeing that Loki needed some privacy to think things through, Tony took out his phone and focused his attention on tweeting about what had just happened. If there was some soft sniffling coming from Loki's direction, Tony didn't hear it.

After a few moments, Tony looked up from his phone to find that Loki was still there. "So?" he asked, pocketing his phone and looking at his watch.

Loki gave him a long look, and then nodded. "Yes."

Tony beamed at him, stupidly glad that Loki had chosen to stay and work with him after all. They really were quite fantastic together. They'd take the world by storm, the two of them, Tony just knew it.

Loki's stomach growled, and he moved a hand to rub at it soothingly. He looked balefully at Tony.

Tony crossed his arms and stared skeptically at him. "You don't seriously expect me to fall for that, do you?" he asked.

Loki's kicked-puppy expression washed off his face like water off the back of a duck, and he rolled his eyes. "It was worth a try," he muttered. "Can I go to my new home, then?"

Cute. "Sure thing," Tony replied, walking towards the exit, not checking if Loki was following him. He found Happy easily, and told them they were leaving.

It turned out that Loki_ did_ follow him, after all, pausing only to get his ugly red backpack from somewhere, because when Tony turned to tell him Happy was gone to get the car, he found him chatting politely with Bruce, whom Tony had invited as moral support.

They were comparing cuffs like high-society trophy wives did jewelry, Bruce admiring Loki's quartz-studded platinum ones.

It was something Tony had heard arcanists did, but had never witnessed in person. Apparently, arcanists meeting for the first time decided who was higher on the food chain by looking at who had the most expensive jewelry. Who would have guessed that Tony's gift to Loki would be a status symbol?

Tony approached them and laid a hand on each of their shoulders. "If you two are done sniffing each other's butts," he said, looking from one to the other with raised eyebrows, "I'm taking Loki to his new digs. Wanna come?" he asked Bruce.

Bruce looked at Loki, and they seemed to have a very intense silent conversation.

Finally, Bruce looked down, pushing the glasses higher on his nose, and said, "I have to stay to present the first panel." Smiling shyly at Tony, he added, "Miss Potts has already offered me a ride."

Loki's head tilted back slightly, and he looked down his nose at Bruce, saying nothing. Tony noticed he was slightly closer to him than he had been before.

What was with Bruce's sudden shyness and Loki's haughtiness? "Oooookay," Tony said, regarding Bruce quizzically. "I thought you said you were going to bed early today. You even blamed me, said I kept you awake all night. So, what is it?"

Loki stiffened beside Tony.

Bruce's eyes went wide. "Um. I had some of your coffee," he grinned. "You make strong stuff. I think I have a few hours left in me yet. "

Bruce never drank coffee. Stimulants were a big no-no for a guy who could go from Dr. Jekyll to Mr. Hyde in the blink of an eye. Why was Bruce lying?

Loki shuffled next to them, and Tony turned to look at him.

His body was turned away from them; the hand that wasn't holding the staff was in the pockets of his trousers. He looked closed-off, his eyes distant, his face unreadable. Almost as if he felt like a third wheel.

_Oh_. Right. Loki probably thought Tony had replaced him.

Tony grinned at Bruce and offered his hand to do their super-secret science-bro handshake — a slap of each other's hand, a fist-bump, and miming an explosion as they pulled their hands apart — and said, "Well, while you are stuck explaining stuff to zeros, I'm taking Loki here on a hot dinner date."

Loki shook awake, glancing at Tony with wide eyes before a small smile lit up his face. "Unless you are planning to cook for me in '_my new digs_', it's not a dinner date," he quipped, turning away from Bruce.

"Uh, no, if there's dinner involved, it's a date, no matter if you're dining at home or not," Tony challenged, waving Bruce goodbye and walking to the car. "You really need to retake Dating 101," he commented, shaking his head. "We can order in or get some takeout on the way," he added quickly, hoping would drop the 'date' thing. He had just been joking, making fun of Loki acting like an insecure girlfriend.

"Mm, order in," Loki agreed, walking beside Tony. "I haven't had decent pasta since I was in Italy."

Happy came out of the car to open the door for them.

Tony politely let Loki and his luggage get in first and get comfortable while he told Happy to come back and fetch the suit after taking them home. Then he got in, sitting next to Loki, their legs touching because Loki still had the habit of sitting with his legs spread as far as they would go.

As the car drove on, Tony's knee tingled not entirely pleasantly at the contact, and he couldn't help but _feel_ it, the tingles getting stronger as time passed, like his brain's considerable processing power was wholly concentrated on it. He could have moved away, but hey, it was _his_ car, and also, _Loki_. He still hadn't overcome the fact that _Loki was there to stay_.

Loki cleared his throat suddenly.

Tony turned to look at him, only to find it looking out the window. "What?" he asked.

Startled, Loki turned his face toward him. "What about what?"

Rolling his eyes, Tony motioned to Loki's person. "You were about to say something," he said, and then hesitated. "Or maybe not?"

Loki gave him a weird smile, like he found the situation utterly amusing but he didn't want to laugh at Tony's expense. "No, I was just clearing my throat." He did it again to exemplify, even covering his mouth with a loose fist, and looked pointed at Tony, his expression saying, '_So there._'

Tony was silent for a while, and then he looked away, staring out of the window. "Right, right, right," he said, feeling the top of his ears burn. Holy fuck, he was a month away from being twenty six and a half, and he was still having awkward silences during car rides?

Shit, was he nervous? His hands felt dry enough, that couldn't be it.

Tony chanced a glance at Loki, only to find him staring at him, that stupid little smile still on his face, like he knew something Tony didn't. He found himself caught in Loki's hypnotizing gaze, and his heartbeat sped up a little. "So," he started.

"So?" Loki asked, eyebrow rising, as if challenging Tony to say it.

'_He should know by now not to challenge me_,' Tony thought, just before he blurted out, "Is it a date? I mean, it doesn't _have _to be. I just assumed, because, you know," he shrugged, "you kissed me." He looked pointedly at Loki. "_Twice_, may I add."

"You started it," Loki deflected, looking away immediately after that.

In the front seat, Happy's shoulders were shaking.

Tony laughed as well, covering his face with one hand. God, he felt like a teenager with a crush all over again. Skittish, high-strung, walking on eggshells. He shook his head at himself, snickering.

"What?" Loki asked, glancing uncertainly from Tony to Happy, looking like he had missed the punchline. "What's so funny?"

"Nothing," Tony answered, smiling and bumping Loki's knee with his own. "Everything. Us two idiots."

Happy outright barked in laughter, which set Tony off again.

He looked at Loki again, feeling all warm.

The wizard was staring out the window at the passing buildings, his arms folded around his staff. The streetlights illuminated his face periodically, exposing his faint smile and highlighting his ear when the angle was right.

Tony thought Loki had the prettiest left ear he'd ever seen.

The rest of the ride was spent in silence, comfortable this time, with Tony throwing Loki a glance or two now and then. Their knees touched the whole time.

Just as Happy was parking the car at the entrance of Stark Tower, Loki shot Tony an unreadable look and said, "Yes."

'_Yes, what?_' Tony was about to ask, but then Happy got out to open the car door for them. Then realization hit him. '_Yes, it's a date?_' He sat still, wide-eyed, his lips spreading slowly into a faint smile.

Loki got out, slinging the backpack over his shoulder and taking the staff in his hand, walking towards the building like he was strutting down a runway.

Tony followed suit, grumbling at having to traverse the back seat to get outside.

"Nice catch, Boss," Happy congratulated, closing the door. "Where did you find him?"

"In a glass cage in the subbasement of Stark Industries," Tony replied, grinning. "In a straightjacket." Winking at the stunned bodyguard-cum-driver, he took off after Loki.

Loki was still in the elevator when Tony caught up with him, holding the _open door_ button.

"Finally realized you can't live without me, huh?" Tony asked, grinning, entering the combination for his own floor out of habit.

"It's more a question of not knowing which floor is mine," Loki replied, leaning on the elevator wall as it began to move, examining his fingernails. "Apparently, I am to live in the penthouse."

"What?" Tony asked, turning around sharply to look at the display. Yep, he'd selected his own apartment. "Fuck, no, that's mine, sorry," he muttered, tapping the touchscreen for the correct floor — two levels under Tony's.

Loki shrugged, Tony seeing his movement in the mirror, and drawled, "I prefer to think about it as a Freudian slip." He wasn't looking at Tony, but it was obvious by the smirk spreading on his face that he knew Tony was watching.

Tony opened his mouth to reply and paused. He actually had nothing to answer to that. Damn. He looked at Loki, impressed. "You have officially left me speechless," he congratulated, pressing his lips together to keep a smile at bay.

"Oooh," Loki deadpanned, his eyes glittering in the bright lights of the elevator. "Do I get a prize?" he asked, sounding perfectly bored.

"If you want," Tony answered slowly, wondering what exactly was going on. Was it just him, or was Loki sending him some really mixed signals there? Hot one moment, then cold again, and now downright mocking.

Loki fixed him with a stare that would have spoken volumes, if only Tony knew how to read it. "Maybe," he said dispassionately. But his voice was low and rough, and it did _things_ to Tony.

And so, emboldened, he crossed the distance that had separated him from Loki.

The elevators he had installed in his tower were big, so they had a few good steps between them. They had naturally settled on opposite corners of the metal box, as if they both had their own repelling electrostatic fields and so tended to be as far as they could get.

Each step felt more charged, like there was resistance in the air between them, and something in Tony's mind kept yelling that he should just stay away, that it was safer, saner. Yeah, as if Tony didn't know that already. But hell, he'd wanted Loki since he'd realized that the reason Loki made him so uncomfortable, the reason Tony couldn't help but be _aware_ of him, was because... Well.

Because maybe Tony was just a teeny bit attracted to him. And not just on a physical level.

The frisson on his skin was such that by the time he was within smelling distance of Loki he couldn't bear to move any closer, especially as Loki was still in the same position, looking completely uninterested in the proceedings. So instead of closing that remaining distance, he stopped and looked up at Loki. "What kind of prize would you like?" he asked; murmured, really.

Hey, Tony was all for dive-bombing into the metaphorical pool, but you gotta check there's water first, right?

Loki met his eyes and gave him a long look, his lips parting slightly as he drew breath.

Tony didn't flinch. He merely stayed there, waiting patiently for once in his life.

Then Loki moved, turning his face away. "I can't," he said sharply, resting a hand on Tony's shoulder as if to push him away, but not doing it.

Yeah, Tony had seen it coming. He scoffed bitterly, looking away from Loki, his hands twitching at his sides. "Okay," he said, nodding. Smiling. He took a step back so he wouldn't crowd Loki into a literal corner.

Loki's brow wrinkled — Tony saw it in the mirror — and he took a deep breath, before sighing. "I look at you and I cannot help but see the child I harmed in my escape all those years ago."

Well, point. Tony looked at Loki and couldn't help but see that cool older guy who had used him so ruthlessly and then rescued him in the span of five minutes. Of course he would get stuck with being the little kid woobie in Loki's imagination; for Loki, fucking him, or doing anything even remotely sexual with him, would feel wrong. In fact, it would be just as wrong as Tony kissing—

Tony inhaled sharply, and he looked at Loki with wide eyes. "I was your Nina and Terry," he breathed, thunderstruck. "That's how you knew to use them to get to me."

Loki reacted as if Tony had just slapped him, flinching into himself before forcing himself to stand tall again. "Yes. You were my wake-up call," he admitted quietly, his hands going to Tony's arms, cupping them gently. "I cannot allow myself to sully that memory."

Peering down at the spidery pale hands on his suit and then up at Loki's earnest expression, Tony couldn't help himself. "Well, you did it twice already," he sneered.

Dropping his gaze, Loki sniffed in resigned laughter. "I got carried away," he mumbled, his cheeks growing pink. "It's a bit harder to do it when it's premeditated." He raised his eyes again, not quite meeting Tony's yet.

"Loki, I'm halfway to twenty-seven," Tony said gently, bringing his hands up and curling them around Loki's shoulders. "I'm not a kid anymore." He licked his lips. "You are hereby _allowed_ to sully my memory." His hold on Loki's shoulder became a vice grip, holding the warlock in place, and he stepped on his toes so Loki wouldn't have anywhere to go. "Do you want to?"

Loki looked down, biting his lip, and his hands shook slightly on Tony's upper arms. Then he closed his eyes, sighed, "Fuck, _yes_," and dipped his head down, claiming Tony's mouth in a toe-curling kiss.

It was as if a dam had broken. All of a sudden, what had been all hesitation and tension became hands roaming everywhere, stroking down backs, clutching greedily at clothes and hair, pulling the other closer as mouths slanted over each other.

Loki pressed Tony against the wall and used the leverage to deepen the kiss, one leg sliding between Tony's and hitching him up. His tongue, which up to that point had been playfully touching and flicking Tony's lips, stole into Tony's mouth with no finesse, and he licked at his palate.

Tony hummed appreciatively, liking the new angle, and his hands dipped inside Loki's leather trench coat, feeling the contours of Loki's narrow waist beneath the shirts he wore, feasting on the warmth. His hands pulled Loki's shirts up and slid under them, palm flat, feeling the scarred — _scarred?_ — back, bumping over every knob of his spine as he sucked on Loki's tongue.

A little moan escaped Loki, and his hands copied Tony, moving under the suit jacket and roughly pulling the tails of his shirt out of his pants. He grinned when he finished — Tony could feel it against his lips — and, settling hot palms on Tony's hipbones, brought their hips together.

Tony moaned brokenly at the sensation Loki's hardness pressing into his hip, his own pressing obscenely against Loki's upper thigh. Feeling like he was about to suffocate, he pulled his head to the side, panting hotly in Loki's ear as his hips twitched of their own volition, sending more shocks up his spine.

Loki immediately took advantage and set scorching lips on Tony's throat, licking playfully at the pulse and then sucking on it as his hips matched Tony's rolling thrusts. One of his hands, still under Tony's shirt, stroked roughly up his side and brushed over a nipple, while the other snaked into Tony's trousers, massaging his ass.

Groaning loudly, Tony paused his exploration of Loki's body to reach down and undo his belt and button, giving Loki more room to maneuver. His hands returned to Loki's shoulders, this time under the trench coat, pulling it off, and he had to laugh. "I feel _so_ sullied, you have _no_ idea," he chuckled, tilting his head even further, trying to tempt Loki into working his magic a little higher.

Loki froze, blinking, and then laughed uproariously, looking reckless with arousal and giddiness. His guffaws, muffled against the spit-wet skin of Tony's neck, tickled lightly.

Tony shivered against him. "You can go back to the kissing any moment now," he said, his voice coming out hoarse and gravelly, as he pulled on Loki's hair with one hand trying to get him to move.

Licking a broad stripe up Tony's neck, Loki briefly bit Tony's earlobe before pulling away. He looked _amazing_, lips reddened and gleaming, his eyes bright on his pink face, his hair a mess. "You probably haven't noticed," he grinned, rolling his hips into Tony's, making his eyelids flutter shut, "but we've been at your floor for a while now."

Tony groaned, pushing Loki away. "_Jarvis_," he scolded, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, "what the fuck, buddy?"

Loki regarded him with extreme skepticism, probably wondering what the hell Tony was going on about.

"You looked quite absorbed, Sir ," JARVIS replied in his easy unbothered manner. "I simply did not wish to interrupt."

Loki jumped like a mile up, and he began looking around wildly.

Wow. Paranoid much? "Relax," Tony said, patting him on the shoulder, "that's Jarvis, my supernanny."

Loki looked entirely unconvinced. His shoulders were tense, and his jaw clenched tight.

Tony decided some quick introductions were in order. "Loki, meet Jarvis. Jarvis, this is Loki."

"It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Mr. Olson," JARVIS greeted dispassionately. "Mr. Stark has talked much about you."

Tony sputtered, and he looked at the camera eye in outrage. "That's a vile lie," he told Loki in a stage whisper.

But Loki wasn't hearing. "I wish I could say the same, but Tony hasn't mentioned you at all," he announced calmly, his eyes boring into Tony's with acute betrayal.

"I am Mr. Stark's butler, Mr. Olson," JARVIS explained. "I am an AI. Mr. Stark created me."

Loki relaxed visibly at that, his shoulders coming down from the defensive stance. "I see," he murmured, still staring at Tony, but now with hunger. "Please, Jarvis, call me Loki. I don't answer to that surname anymore."

"As you wish, Mr. Loki," JARVIS replied.

Tony licked his lips, not taking his eyes away from Loki's dilated pupils. "You gonna let us out anytime soon, J?" he asked, his hands resting on the doors behind his back.

They opened at once.

Tony almost fell back before catching himself, and turned around, exiting the metal box.

Loki followed along. "I didn't know you had made a thinking construct," he commented leadingly, his shoulder brushing Tony's as they walked. "Up until now, I thought them only theoretical."

Tony shrugged. He didn't usually think of JARVIS as a work of genius — JARVIS was his best friend, his mother and his father, all at once, like the original Jarvis had been. "I think you might be overestimating him, Saruman. He ain't that clever," he grinned, taking Loki's hand in his and — surprise! — finding it slightly sweaty. Huh, so Loki was as nervous as Tony, then? "I remember punching in the numbers for _your_ floor."

Squeezing his hand and moving just a tiny bit closer to him, Loki murmured, "He must have had his reasons."

"Mr. Loki's apartments are not yet furnished," JARVIS piped in. "Especially not for the activities I predicted you would be partaking in."

"Oh, there we go," Tony grumbled, rolling his eyes. "He's showing off again. He likes to do that, he's a diva." '_Like his daddy_,' he thought.

Loki laughed. "What did you predict, Jarvis?" he asked obligingly.

Tony threw his hands up and strode over to the couch, plopping down cross armed.

"According to data I have gathered about your nature, Mr. Stark's, and what I could gather about your relationship from Mr. Stark's accounts," JARVIS explained, "I predicted a sixty-seven-point-five percent chance of some manner of sexual intercourse happening. I amended the number to eighty-nine-point-nine after witnessing your osculation."

Loki seemed amused as he joined Tony on the couch, sitting next to him but not so close that anything but their knees touched. "Only eighty-nine?" he asked Tony, teasing.

"Point nine," Tony clarified, shaking his head slightly. "Mr. Stark wants a drink," he announced suddenly, signaling that he wanted to change the subject. "Do you want one too?" he enquired, getting up to get one.

Loki grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him back down on the couch. "You are still drinking?" he demanded, scowling. He was kneeling next to Tony, holding him down by one wrist and pressing down on the other shoulder.

"Well, yeah," Tony replied dumbly. "I need to get my H2O somewhere."

Unamused, Loki narrowed his eyes.

Tony shook his head, scoffing. "Yeah, I figured it was your fault," he said, rolling his eyes. He poked Loki in the stomach. "Asshole. I'd have preferred to take that decision myself, you know?"

Loki's eyes dropped, looking around aimlessly as he openly avoided Tony's gaze. "I needed you sober," he muttered, the hold on Tony's shoulder softening as he stroked little circles with his thumb. It was the closest to apologizing he was ever going to get. "It's the citrine," he explained. "It has purifying and regenerative properties. That particular stone was taken from a lump of Amethyst."

Which had anti-drunkenness properties. Tony knew because he had researched any lead in hopes that alcohol wouldn't taste like poisoned piss again.

Without saying anything, Tony's hand in the vicinity of Loki's belly reached up quickly, hitting Loki right in the inside of his elbow and breaking his hold. He pushed at Loki until he fell back onto the cushions and followed suit, stretching out over him. "I think I can pencil in being mad at you later," he said, looking down at him. "Right now, I have more pressing business."

Loki grinned, his green gaze darting to Tony's mouth briefly before returning to his eyes. "I take that it doesn't involve drinking?" he asked, getting comfortable and rolling his hips against Tony.

The engineer's eyes fluttered shut. "Not unless blowjobs count," he exhaled, pleased, and reached behind Loki's neck, holding him still as Tony kissed him. "Have we thoroughly defiled your memory of me yet?" he couldn't help but ask, grinning wickedly against Loki's lips.

Loki groaned as if in pain, pulling away, burying his face into a cushion. "You just _had_ to remind me, didn't you?" he lamented, his shoulders shaking with helpless laughter, the corner of his mouth curling up. "I feel like a pedophile now, you idiot." He slapped Tony upside the head, and spied him through his eyelashes.

Tony chuckled, dipping his head into Loki's neck and nibbling. "Have I been a bad boy?" he teased, rolling his hips into Loki's. "Are you gonna punish me?" he panted, nosing along the underside of Loki's jaw, his tongue flopping out and littering the skin with little playful laps.

Humming, Loki put his hands on Tony's hips and directed his rocking, turning his face to catch Tony's mouth. "You have no idea," he purred, narrowed eyes glittering, and then he flipped them around, taking Tony's mouth like he was conquering it.

* * *

When Tony woke up the next morning — hey, it was before noon, it did count as morning — he did so alone.

He groaned and rolled over onto the cool side of the bed, burying his face in the pillow Loki had used. Maybe. Tony didn't remember if Loki had stayed the night, he had fallen asleep after he'd come the second time.

And to think they hadn't even got to penetration...

Remembering something, Tony felt around his stomach, discovering he was cum-free. Loki had taken the trouble of cleaning Tony up. How cute. Tony smiled into the pillow, inhaling. It smelled very faintly of Loki, and it proved that the wizard had stayed the night. The notion made him feel light and bubbly, and he sat up with a grin on his face.

After showering, shaving, and brushing his teeth, Tony wandered into the kitchen for something to eat, and discovered Loki had anticipated him.

An amateurish omelet, now cold, was waiting for Tony on a plate.

The plate was sitting on top of three well-thumbed volumes Tony recognized at once: the 'Lord of the Rings' trilogy.

Loki had remembered, after all this time. He had held onto the books even while being a fugitive only to give them to Tony.

Touched, Tony popped the omelet into the microwave traced his finger over the books reverently. He carefully flipped over the cover of 'The Fellowship of the Ring', only to see a dedication written in pen on the first page.

_To Tony_,

_There is no magic spell to get what you want. Never stop fighting, even when it seems the journey is too long and full of impossible obstacles. And remember, wars are won through effort, passion and wit, not by magic or strength alone._

_Yours_,

_Loki_

The microwave pinged, startling him, and he went to get out the omelet, surreptitiously wiping the wetness from his eyes with his thumb. However ugly it looked, especially after the trip through the microwave, the omelet tasted like the cheesy, eggy goodness it was. "J, location on Loki?" he asked, pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

"Currently in the lab with Dr. Banner," JARVIS answered politely, using Bruce's title even though it had technically been stripped from him upon being registered. "They are conversing about you, Sir."

"Jarvis, you gossip," Tony gasped, covering his mouth as he pretended to be scandalized. "What are they saying? Nothing bad, I hope." He slurped at his orange juice.

JARVIS didn't answer right away. When he did, the only thing he said was, "Dr. Banner is reassuring Mr. Loki that he is the only wizard for you, and that Dr. Banner likes you only for your brain."

Tony spit the OJ back into the glass in surprise, and then had to set it down to avoid spilling it, because he was laughing that hard. "That flatterer," he deadpanned lightly, shaking his head. "Fine, let's give them time to finish sizing each other up. Hit me with the news, Jarv."

A holographic screen came to life in the perfect position for Tony to watch it while he sipped his OJ, showing the noon news.

As expected, there was a huge debate going on about Stark Expo, and, more importantly, the ImagiNE line that Tony had only vaguely presented the night before. Apparently, various reporters had been to the Expo and got to play with the techno-magic hybrids and the purely magical artifices — not only Tony's, but also those made by Canadian, British and Brazilian companies that were already being presented — and they liked the idea.

In fact, the reporter on the site, interviewing Dr. Hansen and _treating her like a human being_ instead of belittling her for being a magic user, was downright _ecstatic_. He was like a little kid, asking tons of questions, and very clever ones, too, for one who didn't know a whit about magic.

Tony changed the channel to the BBC, curious to see if he had made the international news.

He had.

The newscaster, a woman with really bad teeth, was comparing The Stark Expo to the Great Exhibition of 1851. "In the midst of political and social upheaval," she was saying, "Stark Industries seeks to show that technology and magic, combined, are the key to a better future."

Tony had to agree. The Unisphere even looked a bit like the Crystal Palace. He was actually very pleased with the comparison. He changed the channel again.

The CNN were also covering the story, though they weren't approving of it by far. "...loophole people are exploiting," the anchor was saying. "Since the attendees don't _have_ magic, the MCU can't register them. Even if they did, Cold Iron has no effect on zeros, so they can easily opt out doing service."

It was the same defense Tony had used to avoid becoming a State Arcanist himself, and he had to grin. People became really wily when it came to breaking the rules.

"Sir," JARVIS said suddenly over the TV, "it appears Loki and Dr. Banner have come to an agreement. You are welcome to join them."

Awesome. Tony had been looking forward to doing magic with Loki, learning more. That dude was an awesome teacher. Bruce would probably appreciate the instruction as well, he'd never formally studied magic.

Tony grinned and hopped down from his stool. "Tell them I'm coming down. And order some pizza."

It was time to do some magic.

* * *

**AN:** Only the epilogue left! In two days or four reviews, like with this one. Whichever happens first. ;P


	15. Epilogue

**AN**: Thanks for sticking with me this far!

* * *

Loki finished up his Artificing lecture and told the students they were free to go.

Most of them eagerly stuffed their materials and notebooks back into their bags and made to leave, but some of them groaned, and did the same with lots of grumbling.

Ah, his cute students. Loki smirked at them from behind his desk, tapping the eraser to activate it so it would wipe the whiteboard. He began putting his notes into some semblance of order and back into his briefcase.

"Sir?" a voice piped.

Loki looked up, snapping his briefcase shut. "Yes, Miss Maximoff?" he asked, curious, leaning against the desk to look at her.

Wanda Maximoff wasn't in his Artificing class. In fact, she wasn't anywhere near undergraduate courses, having graduated the term before last. She still looked the same as she did five years ago, when she had first stumbled into Psionics 101 — quite literally, too, as she had fallen through the wall dividing the classroom from the hallway.

The woman played with a lock of auburn hair, twirling it around one finger in a gesture that was surprisingly girlish. "I'm sorry to bother you," she started, not meeting his eyes at first, "but I was wondering..." She trailed off, licking her lips. Her hands spasmed at her sides.

Nervous much? That was strange. Miss Maximoff wasn't one for coyness; in fact, Loki remembered her as one of the cockiest students he'd ever had, excepting perhaps Tony Stark himself. "Go ahead, Wanda, I don't bite," he coaxed, grinning.

They both knew that was a half-truth at best. Loki might not literally bite people's heads off for being stupid, but was renowned around campus for his wicked wit and his barbed tongue. It helped that he was also an excellent judge of character, and he could tell when someone was lying or obfuscating at a glance.

Apparently, that broke the ice pretty well, because Maximoff giggled at that, her eyes darting to Loki's impishly. "That is a vile lie, Professor, and you know it," she returned, matching Loki's grin.

"I suppose you are correct," Loki mused, tapping his chin. He gave Maximoff a sidelong glance. "Are you trying to ask me out?" he teased. "Because, let me tell you I am old enough to be your father."

Maximoff laughed harder at that, blushing slightly. "Age is just a number, Professor," she said coquettishly. "Don't you know everyone you've ever taught has a crush on you?" She winked, her demeanor suddenly turning predatory, like the animal she was nicknamed after. "What with your voice like a jaguar swathed in silk, and your mile-long legs—"

Loki put a finger to her mouth, silencing her, his eyes wide with delight. His shoulders were shaking with laughter, and soft snorts escaped his tightly-pressed lips. "Enough, Wanda Maximoff," he ordered, blushing slightly, "before I die laughing." Ah, _there _she was, after all. He should have known not to tease her, she always gave as good as she got.

She grinned and pulled back, getting out from his personal space. "Relax, Teach. I know you are taken," she shrugged.

And yeah, right she was. Loki still wore the same bracelets branded with his husband's name that said husband had given him to pass as cuffs, back when they didn't even like each other, almost fourteen years ago. And even if he didn't, he had gone to enough public functions with Tony to be recognized as his partner by everyone who didn't live under a rock.

Loki smiled. "I would start wondering who you are and what you've done with my prized student, if you didn't." He spied the dry eraser and found that it had completed its task, so he cancelled the spell. "I have one hour before I have to begin the afternoon classes. Do you wish to speak in my office?"

Maximoff nodded eagerly, and together they walked to Loki's office almost entirely in silence, bar from the few comments she made here and there about how much things hadn't changed since she got her degree.

Loki's office was built for comfort, even though he didn't spend much time in it. He had had the desk removed and exchanged it for two comfortable armchairs and a coffee table. The walls were lined with well read books he lent out to particularly good students on occasion. There was a picture of Tony and him on the table, from back when Loki had turned forty and life decided to give him the present of the government passing the New Registration Act.

He unlocked the door and turned on the light with a snap of his fingers, showing off. He let Maximoff inside first, gesturing to an armchair for her to sit down.

She did do gratefully, dumping her bag on the floor. "I missed your office," she commented, getting comfortable on the plump armchair. "All of my current professors have desks and plastic chairs," she lamented.

Loki laughed, leaving his briefcase on the coffee table and sat down as well, crossing his legs. "Yes, it is a rather a pity," he commented, rubbing the velvet upholstery of the chair's armrest. "People do tend to choose more utilitarian furniture nowadays," he drawled, deliberately not touching the subject of why she was there at all.

Maximoff blushed slightly at the implied rebuke, and cleared her throat. "Ok. I actually didn't come here to discuss interior decoration," she began. Her left leg began bouncing as she returned to being jittery.

He nodded. "So?" he asked, leaning back in the seat and resting his chin on a hand, elbow planted securely on the armrest. "Why _did_ you come to me for?"

"To ask you to be my advisor for my doctoral thesis." Maximoff looked at him imploringly. "I want to become a Wizard."

Loki's eyes widened. A doctoral thesis in magic?

Ten years ago, that would have been nothing but a pipedream. Free use of magic and the study of it had only just been legalized, and psionics had only just been recognized as a science, thanks to the efforts of Tony and Loki himself. The paper where they mathematically proved that magic was part of electromagnetism had earned them a Nobel in Physics; a bit further down the road, together with Bruce, they had received another one, this time in Medicine, for coming up with a potion that could cure AIDs.

Even after that, only the most well-established Universities had been brave enough to start inviting Wizards to give lectures and four-day courses.

It was how Loki began teaching professionally, actually: since Loki was internationally recognized, as well as a public figure, they had invited him to do it. Giving those lectures, he had discovered he actually quite enjoyed teaching. Several universities had offered him a permanent job, which he didn't accept right away, as he had still been working full time for Stark Industries back then. It had actually been on Tony's insistence that he had accepted the chair at Columbia University, and he hadn't regretted it yet.

Students liked the introductory courses a lot. Some of the more specialized courses some were mandatory — like Artificing and Thaumic physics for engineering, or Alchemy and Potions for medicine — but they were mostly complementary, mere accessories to other careers. Few people actually chose to major _in_ magic; mainly because, despite all efforts of the academic community, it was still regarded as 'The Devil's Art' by some religious folk, and it unsettled vanilla humans regardless their religion.

Doctor in Magical Science was the official title for what centuries of magical tradition termed Wizards, but only a few wizards actually had the diploma that academically recognized them as such outside the magic community.

"Well, well, well," Loki drawled, immensely proud of his old student. "Look at that. Wanda Maximoff, PhD in Psionics." He grinned warmly at her. "Has a nice ring to it."

Maximoff looked at him expectantly. "So? What do you say?"

Loki didn't answer at first, letting her sweat it merely because watching her leg bounce nervously was amusing. Then he nodded. "I'll be delighted to be your advisor," he said at last. "I must warn you, though, in case one year without my instruction has made the heart grow fonder: I _will_ put you through the paces. I am not a lenient master."

Maximoff looked perfectly unimpressed. "TMI. I don't need to know details of your sex life with Stark," she grumbled, and then her façade fell and she laughed heartily. "Yeah, Professor, I know. I remember your tyrannical ways well."

'Tyrannical' was a bit strong. Maybe. Was it? Loki didn't know. "Very well," he said. "As long are you are forewarned. Now." He sat forward in his chair, giving her his undivided attention. "What will your thesis be about?"

Wanda Maximoff lit up like a Christmas tree, and she started pulling stuff — binders, notebooks, loose papers — out of her bag.

* * *

Loki was in the half-way through his last lesson — Veiling, a Junior class — when he spotted a stranger in his class.

It was a testament to how out-of-it he was that he hadn't noticed him before, for he was smack-dab in the middle of third row, reclining with his feet up on the desk; for all appearances dozing lightly.

Huh, no wonder his students had been alternating between badly-hidden smiles and soft snickering this whole time.

Loki made a quick gesture, pushing the intruder's legs aside with willpower alone.

His chair, which had been perfectly balanced up to that point, fell forward, almost sending Tony's head bumping onto the desk. "Mmmmwha'?" he asked, looking around in sleepy surprise.

The students laughed aloud. Only a few had the decency to cover their faces.

"You seem to be lost, Mr. Stark," Loki drawled, his voice riding the fine edge between amused and annoyed. He tossed the whiteboard marker up in the air and caught it as it fell. The gesture, when done by him, was oddly threatening.

Their audience held their collective breath.

Tony, far from intimidated, grinned widely. "Nope," he said, popping the 'p', leaning forward so his arms rested on the desktop, supporting his weight. "I am exactly where I wanna be. Happy birthday, Mr. Stark. Welcome to middle age."

The students gasped.

"Ohmigod, it's your birthday?"

"How old are you now?"

"Is it true you musers get more powerful when you grow older?"

This was exactly the reason Loki hadn't advertised it. He tended to bond with students over time, and he'd known this lot for three years now; they were overly familiar sometimes, and their questions never ceased, no matter how stupid or personal they were.

Annoyed, Loki tossed the cap of the marker at his significant other, hitting him on the forehead. He rolled his eyes and held up his hand, stopping the barrage of questions before it could get really going. "Yes, fifty, and yes," he answered quickly, and then leveled a hate-filled stare at Tony. "Thank you," he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, "now I'll never get them to concentrate again."

Instead of at least pretending to feel sorry, Tony threw his hands up joyously. "Hear that, guys?" he asked the students jovially. "Class in cancelled!"

The class laughed or whooped and started putting their notes away, eager to be let out early.

Loki held a hand over his face and took a deep breath, letting it slowly as his students got up and began exiting the class.

Suddenly, there were hands at his elbows.

Loki opened his eyes to see Tony's face about two inches away from his, and automatically reached out to curl his hands on Tony's shoulders. "Hi," he greeted, resigned, and gave Tony a small smile.

"Hi," Tony replied, smiling back, and leaned up the last few inches, kissing Loki.

There were a few gasps and a squeal.

Without looking away from Tony, Loki said, loudly, "If you take even one picture of us, I'll fail you. _And_ I'll confiscate your phones."

Out the corner of his eyes, he saw three of his female student put their cell phones away, looking ashamed, and scurry out of the classroom.

Loki rested his forehead on Tony's, and Tony's arms immediately wrapped around his waist, pulling him into a hug.

"Bad day, huh?" Tony asked. "Or is it just your students?"

Loki nodded, kissing Tony's cheek and then resting his head on the crook of Tony's shoulder. "I have a headache. Too much pent up magic." He pressed his mouth to Tony's neck briefly before pulling away.

Tony let go at once, knowing thanks to years of practice that Loki wasn't to be bothered when he was having a power surge. "Thought you would," Tony said softly, as if Loki had a hangover. "I came so you could get out early and blame it on me," he grinned. "Let's go home. I have the day free as well. I can take you to a construction site and you waste some magic there. We can use the Jacuzzi after, and I'll rub your feet," he added to sweeten the deal.

Loki had been having surges irregularly for the past two years as his body wound up for the climatic one, and Tony had learned to soothe him well.

The same thing had happened when Loki had turned twenty-five, and Loki had recounted the experience amply. The surge that happened between forty-five and sixty was even worse, according to the literature on the subject, as it was the second magical maturity. He could only what the next one would be, when he was between eighty and ninety, and he was seriously dreading the last one, the one that would happen when grew to around a hundred and forty.

(He could only hope the Heartstone and the psionic field it caused would extend Tony's life so far as well, for he really didn't want to go through that alone.)

Loki yanked gently on Tony's necklace — the platinum chain with the keys to Loki's cuffs that Loki had given him instead of a ring when proposing — as he considered Tony's offer. He found he liked the idea, particularly the bit about the footrub. "Okay, you win. Just let me get my stuff," he murmured, letting the chain drop and going over to his desk.

* * *

The first thing Tony did was take Loki out for ice-cream, which they ate sitting on a bench in Morningside Park, watching children feed ducks at the pond.

It was actually a bit chilly out, despite how sunny it was, and the cold added to the clean air, the greenery and the free space, contributed to making Loki feel better.

They didn't hold hands, both men too private for PDA, especially as they were rather too old — fifty and thirty-eight respectively — for it to be appropriate, but they sat close enough that it didn't matter. Tony had his arm stretched out along the top of the bench, and Loki was reclining on the backrest so it was almost a hug.

Suddenly, they heard a commotion, and turned to look.

A group of three kids, no older than ten, had crowded around a boy around the same age, and they were pushing him around, chanting, "Unnie Eddy, rotten eggy," until the kid, apparently Eddy, tripped over something and fell back into the murky water of the pond.

The park felt silent, conversation ceasing, until the only sounds were those the leaves made when rustling in the wind. Most people turned they head away from the scene, pretending it wasn't happening. No adult came over to chastise the bullies, who were by now pointing and laughing at the fallen kid.

Loki was up in a flash, his eyes already glowing golden as he made his way over to the children. Out the corner of his eye, he saw Tony sit back and smirk.

A spectacle was about to go down, and Tony didn't want to miss it.

The wizard turned his attention to the children again. "Ooh, you must be so brave," Loki crooned, audible through the sudden silence of the park.

"Who the fuck are you?" one of the bullies asked rudely, crossing his arms over his chest. He had a baseball cap on, too big for his head, and the bill was falling into his eyes. The kid had to tilt his head back to see, which in turn made him look like an arrogant little brat.

Loki shook his head, a deceptively kind smile on his face. "Oh, no one. Just a teacher. But did I hear right? Did you call Eddy here," he gestured to the victim, who was now getting to his feet and walking out of the pond, "and 'unnie'?" He looked very impressed.

"Yeah," said another of the bullies, this one wearing a red hoodie, "so what?"

"Nothing," Loki said, shaking his head. "I was just admiring your bravery." His kind smile was still on his face, but anyone who knew him would have run for the hills by now.

The bullies looked at each other, disconcerted. their faces twisted in confusion. Even Eddy, who was wringing out as much water as he could from his clothes, looked puzzled.

"I mean," Loki laughed, delighted, "look at you! Coming after an unnie witcher." He regarded them with amazement. "What do you think a muser can do?"

The kids remained silent, looking at each other.

"Come on!" Loki invited, his grin showing far too many teeth now. "Go ahead, there's no wrong answers. Unnies can do _anything_."

"Uh, he can make us smell of shit?" asked the one who hadn't spoken until now. He had light-up shoes that shone when he rocked nervously on the spot.

Loki nodded, looking pleased.

Baseball Cap, emboldened, offered, "He can make our hair fall off?"

Hoodie, not wanting to be left behind, piped in, "He can make our clothes invisible?"

"Yep." Loki sounded far too amused, even to his own ears. "And much more."

The suggestions rained in as the kids' imagination began getting wild.

_He can make us fail our tests. He can make us fall and break our bones. He can make us wet ourselves in class, in front of everyone. He can make everything we eat taste like broccoli._

The kids were actually beginning to get excited, talking over each other, one-upping each other on who could come up with the scariest thing.

Eddy, bewildered, shared a wide-eyed look with Loki.

Loki winked at him. Then, smiling, he turned to the bullies. "See? And you still come to call him names and push him around! That takes a special kind of courage." The kind that bordered on stupidity, to be specific.

The kids stopped cold at that, the penny finally dropping, and then they turned Eddy with fear in their eyes.

Eddy, to his credit, was smirking at them.

Tony's guffaws could be heard clearly, ringing through the almost silent park.

"Eddy, Eddy," Baseball Cap said, his voice trembling. "You wouldn't do that to us, would you?" he implored, simultaneously taking a step back. His gang followed, hiding behind him.

"I don't know." Eddy tapped his chin thoughtfully. "What do you think, Mr. Teacher?" he asked Loki.

The wizard moved to stand behind him, resting a hand on the child's still wet shoulder. "I think you should charge a toll. For not having killed them after all they have already done to you. It seems only fair."

The bullies were _terrified_. Red Hoodie actually whimpered.

"What should I do?" Eddy turned his head around to look to Loki for guidance.

Loki had a small smile on his face. "I never did tell you what I'm a teacher of, did I?" he mused aloud. "I teach magic." The smile turned into a truly evil smirk, and his eyes glowed golden. "I know the perfect spell. Something that will take what they treasure most."

The bullies made to run, but a wave of Loki's hand had them rooted in place. They gasped when they found they couldn't move their feet.

"How do I do it?" Eddy asked, sounding entranced.

"Do as I do," Loki instructed, widening his stance, lifting a hand in front of his face, poised to snap his fingers. "_Rhith o ysbaddu_," he uttered, his voice terrible and awe-inspiring. "And then snap your fingers."

Eddy copied him as best he could. "_Riz osbade!_" he pronounced inexpertly, yelling it out in righteous fury.

They snapped their fingers together, the twin sounds resonating in the park.

Nothing happened. No breeze, no flash of light, no scream of pain.

The three bullies shared a look, examining the others for awful injuries. Finding none, they laughed, relieved, and turned around. They searched their pockets, patted themselves down.

"You failed, Rotten Eggy!" Light-up Shoes taunted, pointing at the kid. "I still have all my money."

"I still have my Nintendo 3DS," another crowed.

"Did I do it wrong?" Eddy asked, turning to Loki again. "Nothing happened."

Loki shook his head. "Not at all. You did perfectly well. If you truly do have magic, you'll soon realize that bangs and flashes are more the sign of poor spellcasting than of power." He winked. "I wish I could be to see their faces there when they go to the toilet next, thought."

Red Hoodie worked it out first, judging by how wide his eyes got. "No," he breathed, and reached down the front of his pants. His face went completely ashen. "No, no, _no_," he wailed, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes.

The other two caught on quickly. With big, disbelieving eyes, they felt around between their legs and started crying, all bravado gone.

"Put it back!" Baseball Cap begged, fat tears rolling down his cheeks. "I need that to pee!" He sobbed. "Mom says that if I don't pee, I'll explode!"

Eddy gave in immediately, and began snapping his fingers like crazy, trying to undo the spell.

Loki covered his hand, shaking his head at him in a silent rebuke. "No. The spell will undo itself and return their manhood when they have learned to behave like proper men." He turned to the bullies. "Men don't push other men around for being born as something they can't help. Men don't get together with friends and decide, _you know what, let's go bother Eddy today, I have a new insult I want to try out_. Men don't gang up on other men and push them into a dirty pond when it's sixty degrees outside."

The kids looked down and sobbed, clutching at their crotches.

Loki waved a hand in the air, and the kids' feet glowed golden. "Now scram," he snapped.

They did, running away as fast as their feet could carry them.

"That was perfect," Tony said from behind him, clapping slowly. "You didn't really cut off their dicks, though. Did you?"

"Language, Tony," Loki reproached, turning around. "And you know I didn't. I need the parents to sign an authorization before doing a medical procedure. It was merely a veil," he explained, and then knelt by Eddy. "Are you okay, Eddy?"

Eddy nodded. "I'm a little cold." He was shivering badly.

Loki rested his hands on the kid's shoulders and released his power, making him dry at once, though he couldn't quite remove all of the pond's dirt from the fabric. In a second rush of magic, he transferred some of his own body heat to the child. "Better?" he asked.

Eddy nodded, but didn't say anything.

When Loki checked, he saw him staring at Tony almost with stars in his eyes. Rolling his eyes, he introduced them. "Tony, this is my good friend Eddy."

"Hi, Eddy," Tony greeted amiably, even throwing in a little wave. "You were amazing today."

Loki continued, "Eddy, this is Tony, my partner."

The kid turned the awe-struck look on him. "You are Loki!" he exclaimed. "Oh, just wait until I tell the other kids at the orphanage! They'll never believe me."

Orphanage.

Unfortunately, it was all too common for parents to give their children up for adoption as soon as the kid showed signs of magic. Before, the Houses had taken those kids in; now, they filled up the orphanages. Very few people who weren't magic users themselves wanted to adopt witch children.

And the worst thing of all: Eddy didn't have a drop of magic in him that his body wasn't already using to keep him alive, but he did have the black hair and eyes that had always been associated with magic.

Smiling for the kid's sake, Loki patted him on the head and stood up, dusting his knees. "Then don't tell them," he said.

Eddy grinned and threw himself at Loki, hugging him. "Thank you!" he said emphatically, and then pulled away. "Gotta go now! Mrs. Diaz will have my skin, I was supposed to go buy chocolate for a cake she's baking!"

"Better not get on the cook's black list, kiddo," Tony advised. "Run along, then."

The kid took off running.

"That was well done," Tony praised, drawing Loki into a one-armed hug around his waist, pulling him close. "I guess they don't call you 'Teacher' for nothing."

Loki returned the hug, his arm settling comfortably around Tony's shoulders, and hummed noncommittally.

It had been ten years since the New Registration Act had passed, allowing the free use of magic for personal use, enabling it to be taught, too, by officially recognized entities like schools or universities. There was a new national registry of magic users where all magic users and their magic signature were recorded, regardless of denomination, age, gender or race, mainly for forensic purposes, and magic users had to prove their competency to become licensed Arcanists, which enabled them to perform magic or magical services for a fee.

And yet... Magic and its practitioners still weren't completely assimilated by society. Parents were still abandoning their children for having magic. Kids were still being bullied. Musers were still discriminated against, whether by banks when it came to applying for loans, by medical insurers who denied them coverage, or by people in general in the lines at supermarkets.

It would take a lot longer for magic users to stop being second-rate citizens in the eyes of the general populace.

"Loki?"

Tony's voice brought Loki out of his reverie. "Tony," he replied, "take me to that construction site. What was it again?"

The man grinned. "One of the new Houses. The old one was crumbling down." He rolled his eyes. "Shoddy state contractors, right?"

One of Stark International's best ideas. S.I. had acquired all the Houses, remodeled them, and now they were actual homes for magic users, licensed arcanists or not, rented out at a nominal fee. S.I., or rather, its subsidiary, the Maria Stark Foundation, offered these people a safety network they could rely on, including giving loans, medical insurance and even granting scholarships to the brighter witches.

"Right," Loki agreed. "What time do we need to be home for the party?"

"No later than eight, or Pepper will castrate me with a rusty spoon," Tony commented, pecking Loki's cheek and grabbing his hand. "She's bringing the kids. Oh, also, she invited Thor and Jane, so I guess we have to get some sweets on the way."

Loki groaned at the thought of Thor pulling him into a killer hug, but he smiled nonetheless, glad that he had patched up things with him, even if it was only recently and at Tony's prompting. He tilted his face into the cold pale sun, enjoying the bit of warmth it offered, and he squeezed Tony's hand affectionately.

Then Tony began pulling him to the spot where they had left the flying car — still a prototype, to Tony's continuous consternation — and they raced each other there, laughing.

* * *

**Thus concludes the tale of Tony and Loki, but their rebellion lives on.**


	16. Glossary

**Alms (_pl noun_)** _slang _The portion of the payment that the House receives for an Arcanist's service that goes to said Arcanist.

**AP (_adjective_)** term for magic-suppressing technology. Comes from "anti-psionic". Can be applied to weapons, cuffs, or mostly anything that S.I. makes and markets.

**Citrine (_noun_)** A variety of quartz. Good for kidneys, colon, liver, gallbladder, digestive organs, heart. Tissue regeneration. Detoxifies physical/emotional/mental bodies. Enhances body's healing energy. Diminishes self-destructive tendencies. Raises self-esteem. Lightheartedness, cheerfulness, hope.

**Cold Iron (_noun_)** A gold-titanium alloy patented and trademarked by Stark Industries. It has the property of being the worst conductor of magic discovered so far, even better at insulating it than actual cold iron.

**Cuff (_noun_,_ pl _cuffs)** The magic-suppressing bracelets magic users are forced to wear when they are registered. They used to be manufactured by Stark Industries only, but now there are more manufactures, although only S.I. uses Cold Iron to make them.

**Cuff (_verb_,_ regular_)** The act of putting cuffs on someone, generally violently. Also called _neutering._

**Cuffed (_adjective_)** Used to describe a magic user who is wearing cuffs.

**Dog of the government ** Magic-user slang, pejorative term for State Arcanists. The "government" can be replaced as appropriate, for example, "dog of the military."

**House (_noun_,_ pl _houses)** Originally, the state-provided housing for State Arcanists and their families.

It has expanded to include the administrative entity that rules the State Arcanists in their building, loaning them out to paying customers like freight ship companies, or hospitals, etc..

**Jewelry (_noun_)** magic-user slang for magic-suppressing bracelets. Since different models are used on different ranks, they see also a status symbol.

**MAGI (_acronym_)** Magic AGainst Injustice. What the freedom-fighters for magic call themselves. Loki is part of this group, led by Thanos. Was originally the "Magic Liberation Front" until Thanos changed the name for something more catchy.

**MCU (_acronym_)** Magic-Counter Unit. Created by SHIELD when the magical threat became real. One of the divisions is informally known as the Avengers.

**Muser (_noun_,_ pl _musers)** _slang_ magical user.

**Neuter (_verb_,_ regular_)** magic-user slang for putting "jewelry" on a magic user.

**Neutered (_adjective_)** magic-user slang to describe someone wearing "jewelry".

**NRA (_acronym_)** New Registration Act, by which Musers are now considered citizens. They receive compulsory special education in magic, besides everything else, in schools ran almost entirely by Wizards. Upon completing their magical education, they receive a license to perform magic, and they are inscribed in the Book, their rank and special power registered.

**Number (_noun_,_ pl _numbers)** _slang _a ranked muser, but can also mean any muser, ranked or not. Derived from the WWI ranking scale, still in use today.

**Ranking System** exponential scale devised during the first World War by the Germans to rank their Combat Wizards in terms of raw power only. The rank itself, from 0 to a hypothetical* 5, can be calculated by taking the logarithm in base 10 of the power output of a magic user.

*To the current population of the US, the number of rank five people are 6 or 7, known widely as the "mythical six" because none has been discovered yet.

**State Arcanist (_pl_ — Arcanists)** The official title of a registered magic user who chose to work for the State.

**Thaum (_noun_)** basic unit of magical strength, universally established as the amount of magic needed to create one small white pigeon or three normal sized billiard balls.

**Unnie (_adjective_)** Originally spelled "unny", portmanteau of unnatural and uncanny , has since the 1940s been used as pejorative slang for magic users equivalent to "nigger" or "faggot".

**Warlock (_noun_)** Originally 'oath-breaker', this word has come to mean a registered or discovered magic user who has broken their chains, is on the run from the law, and refuses to do their duty (i.e. be a dog of the government). Could be considered legally the same as an escaped convict or fugitive.

**Zero (_noun_,_ pl _zeroes)** _slang_ normal, someone who is not a magic user. Derived from the ranking scale, where people with normal-levels of magic rank 0. Contrary to popular belief, this doesn't mean they possess no magic. Zeros have between one and nine thaums, enough to fuel their souls and any special non-magical talent. This is about three fourths of the population.


End file.
